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On tHe Fi^Kting 
Line 


By 

Constance Smedley 4^ 


G. P. Putnam’s Sons 
New YorK and London 

Ube TRnicberbocber press 
1915 



13 



Copyright, 1915 

BY 

G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 



Ube ftnicfterbocbec |)re00, mew IBorft 

MAR 2 1915 

©CIA391944 ^ 

> 


Zo 

MAX 


JULY I4TH, 1914 









If apologies are needed for the title of this novel, 
it may be said that the manuscript was finished and 
the title chosen many months before the outbreak of 
War. While the incidents are not of a military char- 
acter, the catastrophe of the European War may, 
perhaps, in some measure, be traceable to the social 
conditions and tendencies analysed in the book. For 
this reason and because the phrase is so closely woven 
into the story, it seems justifiable to retain the title 
“ On the Fighting Line.” 

The Author. 


V 


\ 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER 

I. — The Sky Parlour 
II. — February Violets 

III. — ^Jasmine at Kew . 

IV. — ^Jasmine in the Wood . 

V. — The Imperial Alliance 

VI. — “Minette’' is Discovered . 

VII. — Jack Ford’s Tea-party 

VIII. — Mr. Richard Makes Friends 

IX. — A Visit from Carol 

X. — The Office Outraged . 

XL — A Difference OF Opinion 

XII. — The Merryman and his Maid 

XIII. — The Cottage in the Wood . 

XIV. — The Attic Goddess 

vii 


PAGE 

I 

32 

51 

68 

89 

113 

133 

152 

167 

198 

214 

240 

274 

301 


Contents 


viii 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XV. — Mr. Richard Backs Out . .318 

XVI. — The Vanishing Bread . . . 348 

XVII. — ^Woodbine Villa .... 374 

XVIII. — Carol is Afraid .... 397 

XIX. — ^The Battle with London . *429 

XX. — ^Jack Ford Comes Back . .451 


ON THE FIGHTING LINE 


/ 








On the Fighting Line 


CHAPTER I 

THE SKY PARLOUR 

London, My Sky Parlour, Jan , ist . 

T WONDER how many people are starting the 
^ New Year with nothing left to wish for? 

It’s as if I’ve swept into one of those oases of 
warm still air which aviators talk about: one 
minute tossed and buffeted in tempestuous un- 
certainty, and then suddenly swoosh into serene 
and comfortable steadiness with nothing left to 
fight about or trouble over. 

Last January seems like a bad dream, though 
the storm that was happening then was a relief 
after the years of tossing up and down, knowing 
I should be pitchforked into something terrible 
one day. When I was a small child I knew we 


2 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

were in debt because father couldn’t sell his 
writings, and that the only hope of our worrying 
through at all, depended upon mother. Mother 
meant safety and home and everything practical; 
it was she who taught me the value of common- 
sense and success, although she dreaded the idea 
that some day I might have to earn my living. 
If she had not died, I should never have been 
allowed to go to the Polytechnic. Mother did 
believe so in girls being feminine and ladies. She 
always said there would be a home for me with 
Aunt Minnie and Uncle Samuel; I’m glad mother 
didn’t live to know the horror I feel now at such a 
prospect. Being poor and insignificant in Lon- 
don isn’t pleasant, 'but being poor and insignifi- 
cant in a little country town, is impossible to 
contemplate. 

Of course Aunt Minnie is mother’s sister, and 
mother never seemed to realize how funny her 
accent is, and how unspeakably badly dressed 
both she and Uncle Samuel are. She always 
talked about the nice home they had and Uncle 
Samuel’s position in Scroose, and felt it very much 
that father’s pride prevented him going to stay 
with them. I always thought father would not go 
because Aunt Minnie and Uncle Samuel were 


XHe SKy Parlour 


3 


rich and influential, and he was poor and a failure, 
until mother^s funeral, when they came up, very, 
very kindly, and offered to take me back with 
them to recover from the shock. 

Aunt Minnie wore shiny gloves and called Uncle 
Samuel “Mr. Barnet.” They were both terribly 
afraid of father, and beside them father was like 
someone of a different breed. I felt him wince at 
every word they said, and I couldn’t help wincing 
too, though I wanted so to like them, because of 
mother. 

When I saw them, I understood why father’s 
people had refused to have anything to do with 
him, when he married mother and became related 
to her family. It came over me in a great wave of 
horror. I was furious that I was related to them. 
And rather than be dependent on them, I felt I 
would sweep the streets. Directly after they had 
gone, I made inquiries about getting work, and 
just wrenched the money out of father for my 
Polytechnic classes. I suggested he should sell 
some of his old books. I was desperate. How 
glad I am that I insisted. I have a niche in the 
world now. I support myself. 

Poor father; he seemed to go to pieces when 
mother died, although they never appeared very 


4 


On tHe FigHtin^ Line 


fond of one another; mother was always so prac- 
tical and managing. I could think of nothing but 
my Polytechnic classes and there was no one to 
send father out to see his editors and keep him up 
to the mark, and though it must have been a 
relief to be let alone, in a way, he missed it. He 
took to sitting looking at the fire all day, and 
brooding, and when he started a cough, it just 
took possession of him. 

Poor father ! 

It’s harrowing to be bobbing about in the ocean 
without a life-belt; it’s imcomfortable tossing 
about in a cockleshell of a boat which you know 
the family can’t steer, but it’s grand to be on a 
great majestic vessel which crushes the waves 
into foam, and that’s where I am now, in the office 
of the Imperial Alliance Trust. When at midday 
buses, drays, and motors bubble roimd the Bank 
and spill into the streets, the City reminds me of the 
sea; the currents meet and foam, the buildings 
stand up like great rocks, and the passers-by are as 
evanescent and as insignificant as bubbles. Upon 
this mighty sea, the Imperial Alliance proudly 
rides, supported by it. 

Into the far corners of the world the tides of 
London flow, stamping our Empire more firmly 


THe SKy Parloxir 


5 

on the universe, like the pattern which the waves 
make on the sand. 

The Alliance Trust underwrites companies 
formed to promote Imperial interests. Through 
us, Canadian lumber has been exploited; bananas 
have come forth in golden freights from the West 
Indies; railways have stretched steel tentacles 
across Rhodesia; townships have been built and 
lit and furnished; rice fields have been planted, 
wheatfields have been sown; whatever the Alliance 
thinks well to aid, flourishes promptly, for there is 
no firm in the City with such power and reputation. 

It’s lovely to come home to my little sky parlour 
after business all day, successful business with 
successful men; I don’t miss father or mother; I 
can’t think of anything but the wonder of being 
the tiniest part of such a firm as the Alliance. 

How can people fritter their time away when 
they get into an office like that. The other girls 
don’t seem to reahze the magnitude of the whole 
thing — they don’t care whether our schemes 
succeed or not; they simply wait for six o’clock 
so that they can shoot back into their private 
lives; and bring their trumpery little engrossments 
with them. 

Miss Beckles reeks of scent and keeps a picture 


6 


On tKe Fig'Ktin^ Line 


postcard of Gertie Millar under her typewriter, 
and Miss Patten refreshes herself with peeps at 
women’s papers. To-day she read out an article 
called “Typists Chances,” in which a gentleman 
noticed a girl when she took in the letters to her 
employer, asked for an introduction, and married 
her; she thought that bit might happen to any 
of us. 

As if anyone with Mr. Grainge would notice 
his clerks. Miss Heckles and Miss Patten don’t 
understand how inferior we are. The very look 
of the room we work in, ought to wake them up to 
the unsurpassable difference between us and Mr. 
Grainge. We are at the top in a big room lighted 
by a skylight, with so small a stove that we have 
to keep our coats on, and even then, we shiver. 
The floor is covered with linoleum, the walls are 
dirty, the chairs are hard and high, and there isn’t 
a bit of carpet for our feet. But in Mr. Grainge’s 
room, the doors and fittings and furniture are 
mahogany and there’s a glow of subdued Eastern 
colours in the thick-piled rugs ; and there are great 
leather armchairs, and roll-top desks, and Mr. 
Grainge sits amongst it all, heavy and paunchy, 
like an Eastern God. I have only been in once. 

It’s a privilege to help him, however humbly. 


THe SKy Parlour 


7 


If I were in Miss Patten’s place and took his 
letters, — and she complains of the stairs when she 
has to go down more than once, complains if she is 
kept late, complains of the rate at which he gabbles 
when he gets enthusiastic. 

But then Miss Patten has about as much imag- 
ination as a sparrow. She came home with me one 
night for supper, and said she should have heart 
disease if she had to climb all those dark stairs 
every time she came home, and never saw 
the charm of my sky parlour is that it’s tucked 
away in the top of that great warehouse, away 
from everyone. She hated my dear Httle landing, 
with its low roof and three black doors in the 
bulging wall, like animal dens. I could fancy 
anything coming out of them: a cow in a bonnet 
or a great fat sheep. But Miss Patten couldn’t 
appreciate the skylight through which the moon 
and stars shine, and light up my little door; and 
said the whole thing gave her the creeps and was it 
quite nice living up there by myself, next to a 
gentleman? 

I’ve never even seen the tenant of the next 
rooms; his name. Jack Ford, is printed on the door, 
but I go straight into my den when I come home 
and don’t stir out again till morning when I’m 


8 


On tHe Fi^Ktin^ Line 


off before he gets up. I hear him moving about and 
talking to his friends; lots of people come to see 
him in the evenings. I suppose Miss Patten would 
be always hovering about the landing. I hate the 
way she talks and thinks about men; it degrades 
them. From the shouts of laughter that come 
through the wall, Jack Ford sounds like a man’s 
man, and I like him to be left alone. I like being 
alone myself. My parlour reminds me of a ship’s 
cabin and I keep the bits of brass and china shining 
as if I were a sailor. The wind roars sometimes in 
the chimney like the sound of waves. The room 
is such a darling three-cornered cubby-hole with 
its great window half-way up the roof, tiny fire- 
place, and wall cupboards. The bed and father’s 
chair are dressed in frilly covers, and when I stand 
on the box, I can look through the window and 
watch the great clouds speeding through the sky 
like monster ships, or parting to show peaceful 
seas of stars, with the lights of London twinkling 
in a haze far, far below. Yet when I’m tucked up 
in my chair before the fire, I’m looking at some- 
thing as significant and vast as the clouds and 
stars and London. I’ve stuck up the pictures of 
the bravest, hardest men I’ve read about, to 
remind me that anything can be done if you work 


TKe SKy Parloxir 


9 


hard enough and never give in. I adore soldiers, 
sea-dogs, statesmen, and administrators. I some- 
times wonder if there were any in father’s family; 
I should love to be related to men like that. But 
on the other hand, I don’t want to be reminded of 
father. I want to be reminded about successful 
people; I want to study how they got success. 
Success is my one demand. The office of the Im- 
perial Alliance is a temple of success ; Mr. Grainge 
breathes out success; Sir Mordaimt Mordaunt is 
the living symbol of success; and at last my life is 
a success for I’m in the Alliance office, and drawing 
twenty-five shillings a week, and banking three 
shillings every Saturday. 

Jan. 4thy Monday. 

To-day I’ve been picked out. 

I was called in to Mr. Grainge this morning for 
some extra work: it was so exciting typing his 
letters that I missed lunch, and was still busy at it, 
when Miss Beckles and Miss Patten came strolling 
in, arguing hotly as to whether a wife should make 
home attractive to her husband. Miss Patten 
thought she ought to, as that was what she had 
been married for, but Miss Beckles said it was 


10 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

practically impossible to get a husband out at 
night under any circumstances, and it was nothing 
short of lunacy to encourage him to stay at home. 

I was typing as loudly as I could to drown their 
chatter when Mr. Benson looked in and asked who 
was free. I had just that moment finished. It 
really was a coup to get all those letters finished 
by two- thirty, and it was jolly to be rewarded in 
this way. 

So I went down, Mr. Grainge’s letters in my 
hand. 

I nearly fell through the floor; Sir Mordaimt 
Mordaunt was with him. 

Mr. Grainge is Managing Director, and Sir 
Mordaunt is only a Director, but they say he is 
the power behind the throne. He is not a bit like 
Mr. Grainge who is the living image of Cecil 
Rhodes. Sir Mordaimt is reddish and squirish, 
though his long drooping nose and sharp small eyes 
give him the City look. Such a dominant pene- 
trating look it is. 

They wanted me to take down a prospectus. 
An irrigation scheme is now afoot. A wonderful 
new plant has been invented, and the Alliance 
Trust has taken up one-fifth of the shares. The 
remainder has been satisfactorily placed, partly 


THe SKy Parlour 


II 


through the concessionaires and partly through 
Sir Mordaunt’s agency. It was breath-taking to 
be sitting there, hearing them discussing millions 
as casually as if they had been shillings. We have 
to place 100,000 shares at 7>^% and we get io%; 
so the Alliance stands to make a good thing out of 
it. I’m not so interested in that part, however, as 
in the idea of buying up the waste and desert 
comers of the Empire and irrigating them until 
they become fertile dwelling-places and granaries 
and orchards. It’s too wonderful to think what 
one can do, by just sitting still in a city office, and 
thinking, and writing, and talking. Millions of 
acres will be populated through the talk those 
two men had this afternoon, and the prospectus 
I took down is the messenger that will tell people 
about it, and win their co-operation. 

The way it is to be done, soimds confusing, for 
money has to be raised through foreign banks and 
mortgages one on top of the other like a juggler’s 
pile of plates. First you get concessions by 
promising money, and then you get promises of 
money by promising concessions, — but it’s no use, 
I can’t make head or tail of the complications; 
all I’ve gathered is the splendid idea of the scheme, 
and the fact that the Alliance has to place 100 , 000 , 


12 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

and Mr. Grainge thinks it’s easy, and Sir Mor- 
daunt snarls and grunts and evidently doesn’t. 

Even if he is a great financier, the way Sir 
Mordaunt speaks to Mr. Grainge makes me hot. 
Mr. Grainge is too big a man to be annoyed; he is 
genial even to me, and he is simply charming with 
Sir Mordaunt, refusing to take his ill-humour 
seriously, and always saying the one thing which 
can mollify him. Mr. Grainge never flatters. Sir 
Mordaunt would be annoyed at anything as crude 
as that. And Mr. Grainge doesn’t always accept 
Sir Mordaunt’s ideas by any means, but he plays 
him gently, as if Sir Mordaunt was a ticklish fish. 

“Now give us something succinct for the last 
paragraph,” said Mr. Grainge, “something that 
will stir the imagination. ” He leaned back in his 
chair like a genial King Henry the Eighth. 

‘ ‘ I distrust imagination in prospectuses, ’ ’ snapped 
out Sir Mordaunt as if Mr. Grainge were a de- 
faulter. 

I should have shrivelled up into a pellet, but Mr. 
Grainge only leaned back, laughing, and said: 
“ My dear Sir Mordaunt, one of your short 
pithy phrases stimulates my imagination more 
than anything I know. I always say you’re a 
wizard at words. ” It was as if someone had aimed 


THe SKy Parloxar 


13 


at him and struck, and he was handing the shaft 
back, congratulating the marksman. 

Sir Mordaunt grunted, and presently evolved 
a sentence which I could see nothing particular in. 

Sir Mordaunt may have more money, but Mr. 
Grainge is far and away the greater man. Sir 
Mordaunt is perpetually prickling with the know- 
ledge of his money and importance ; Mr. Grainge 
doesn’t think about himself, only of the great works 
he’s carrying through. Sir Mordaunt picks and 
pecks and hums and haws about whether this will 
pay, and will they be left with this on their hands, 
and is that too big a price for that concession, and 
couldn’t they squeeze a wharfage out of this con- 
cession, and so on, riddling the scheme to see if he 
can possibly perforate it so that it won’t hold 
water. Mr. Grainge plans and builds, the master of 
every obstacle that rises; he has the ideas, he sees 
the perfect work beyond the struggle all the time. 
If he hadn’t a shilling in the world, I believe he 
would set out to build a fleet of liners, or a railway 
from Persia to Hong Kong. 

I can’t say what it meant to me when Mr. 
Grainge picked up my pile of letters, and asked me 
how long I should be with the rest, and I was able 
to say those were the lot. 


14 On tHe FigHting Line 

'‘That’s quick,” said he. “No one here has a 
speed like that.” 

“ Let’s look at ’em, ” snarled Sir Mordaunt ; he is 
the sort of person who will never let the slightest 
detail pass. He picked up the letters now, and his 
gimlet eyes peered at them, trying to perforate 
them, but in vain. I do type well. 

And then I suddenly realised I had typed 
through lunch. It was horrid to have to tell 
them. “Ah, of course, in that case,” snapped Sir 
Mordaunt, dismissing my presumptions. 

But Mr. Grainge nodded as if he were pleased 
“I never want to leave off,” said he. Sir Mor- 
daunt was staring at the fire, but as I turned I 
felt his sharp eyes on me, and then he said: “ She’d 
better take Richard’s.” 

“Let’s see, he is to have Benson’s room — I had 
thought Miss Patten might manage both,” said 
Mr. Grainge. 

I stood waiting for my fate to be decided; a 
word might swing it one way or the other. Who 
was Richard? 

“Put this girl on: she seems capable,” said Sir 
Mordaunt in a voice there could be no contradict- 
ing. 

“All right, then. Report yourself to Mr. 


THe SKy Parlour 


15 


Mordaunt to-morrow morning after he’s finished 
with me,” said Mr. Grainge, “and I want that 
prospectus at the printers’ by five-thirty. Can 
you do it?” 

Could I do it ! 

Then I was out of the room with the news that 
young Mr. Mordaunt is coming to the Alliance, 
and I am to take his letters. 

It’s so exciting that something else which has 
happened is scarcely exciting at all. 

Jack Ford and I have met in a touchingly 
domestic manner. When I came home, someone 
was going upstairs, two flights in front of me ; I 
was thinking Jack Ford would be well in his room 
by the time I reached the landing, when bumpity 
bump, down the stairs rolled something. I had 
gained one flight, and now flew up the other and 
fielded an onion. It wasn’t news that Jack Ford 
liked onions, for one can’t help knowing what 
neighbors on the same landing have for supper. 
But he must be afflicted by a perfect mania for 
them. The first was the precursor of a torrent. 

Jack Ford came running down. He turns out 
to be young, square, and chubby, Hke a good- 
tempered small boy only that his square-set jaw 
and weather-beaten eyes indicate he’s knocked 


i6 On tKe Fi^Htin^ Line 

about the world a bit. He speaks in a calm drawl 
and didn’t seem to mind being caught carrying 
onions. He swore gently when two left his arms 
suddenly, after I had piled the last ones on. I 
had to go down after them, for he was loaded to 
his chin, and he calmly trudged up to his room. I 
don’t know if he expected me to keep the onions as 
a sort of tip, but he shut his door after him, and I 
actually had to knock to give him back his precious 
possessions. He really might have waited. He 
thanked me in a confidential way but not nearly so 
much as I should have expected. He appeared to 
think it quite natural for a girl to pick up a man’s 
onions. I can’t help feeling he is rather cool; I 
should say, perhaps, unmanly. I do like manly 
men. 

I have been smelling the onions the last hour. 
I should never bother to fry onions for myself. 
How funny men are. 

Not that I think a manly man would bother. 

How could he sit in his room after, even smoking? 

Oh dear, I wish to-morrow would come. I’m 
yearning to begin my first real job. I wonder if 
young Mr. Mordaunt snaps like his father. Miss 
Patten is thrilled he’s coming. I suppose she has 
begun a new dream of young Mr. Mordaunt seeing 


TKe SKy Parlo-ur 


17 


her clicking, and thinking how sweet she’d look 
at a sewing-machine. 

Jan. Tuesday. 

Mr. Richard is brusque but he doesn’t snap. 
His nose doesn’t droop like Sir Mordaunt’s; it’s 
straight, like his eyebrows which almost meet, 
over dark, bright eyes. He’s like Sir Mordaunt in 
his squirishness and brownness, and tall upright 
figure. He would look glorious in flannels. He 
is the typical captain of cricket teams. His au- 
thoritative air reminds me of Sir Mordaimt, but 
Mr. Richard is pleasanter; his curtness is due to 
nervousness, I fancy, for he is only a boy and 
doesn’t want to show his inexperience. Though 
it’s wonderful how he has tumbled into things his 
first day. When I went in this morning, he was 
sitting at his desk as if the office belonged to him, 
and glanced at me as carelessly as if he had been 
used to seeing me every day of his life. Yet I don’t 
believe he had ever given a letter in shorthand 
before. I took down the first sentence in three 
dots or so, and then waited, and waited, till he 
became red, and asked if I’d got that. Anyone 
who knew anything about dictating, would have 
known I had. He kept looking at me out of the 


1 8 On tHe Fi^Htin^ Line 

comer of his eye, trying to bluff, after that, but I 
Hke people who have no doubts as to their right 
to mle, and will never own they’re wrong, or don’t 
know anything they ought to know. It is plain 
Mr. Richard will never be treated as an ordinary 
person by anyone. He has come straight into a 
position of authority, as Mr. Grainge’s confidante, 
apparently. He is to work with Mr. Grainge on 
the new scheme. It will be almost as good as 
working with Mr. Grainge himself. 

The only remark that Mr. Richard made to me, 
was that the blotting-paper was beastly ; the pink 
swore with the wallpaper. When I brought in his 
letters after lunch I noticed he had invested in a 
packet of delicate grey, and an ebony mler. One 
can see he has been used to everything of the very 
best. 

Jan. Qthy Saturday. 

I can’t think how I ever thought Mr. Richard like 
his father. He sees eye to eye with Mr. Grainge in 
everything, regarding him as a young soldier would 
regard his superior officer, ready to obey and trust 
him implicitly, and yet, thrilling with the meaning 
of it all. After the supine indifference of the girls, it 
is meat and drink to be working with Mr. Richard. 


XKe SKy Parlovir 


19 


He is wild with excitement over this new scheme ; 
of course it’s his first job, but I can see already he is 
the sort of person who can become truly enthu- 
siastic over things. Mr. Grainge and he are shut 
up for hours together, and then Mr. Richard 
comes out with lists of names and I take down 
letters to such interesting people. Mr. Grainge 
and Mr. Richard seem to know ever so many. 
Mr. Richard writes to men he doesn’t know, too, 
for Mr. Grainge feels the nation must awake to 
its Imperial responsibilities, and this irrigation 
business is of great importance to every loyal mem- 
ber of our nation. Above all the Alliance deals 
with Englishmen and English capital; we always 
mention that; “All for England” is our slogan; 
our lands must not be allowed to be exploited by 
foreign bandits, otherwise financiers. I suppose 
the foreign banks that are in the scheme represent 
the capital of Englishmen who live abroad. 

The letters make me quite excited as I write 
them. After we have spent millions and poured 
out our blood to colonize, and civilize the untamed 
comers of the world, it does seem a sin that the 
country should apathetically allow the profits and 
control to go elsewhere. 

It makes such a difference if one takes down 


20 On tHe FigKting l^ine 

letters consecutively, and can follow the whole 
plan day by day. I sit like an automaton, of 
course, but it’s fine to think one is a useful, re- 
liable machine, and now and then, Mr. Richard 
glances at me in a furtive sort of way, as if he 
wants to know if I am stirred by his letters. I 
seem to understand him exactly, perhaps because 
this is my first big job too. And then there’s such 
a sense of team-work about a scheme of such 
magnitude. For I’m English and its as much my 
Empire as anyone’s. 

Jan. 2gth^ Friday. 

Mr. Richard and I have talked to-day like 
human beings. 

Things haven’t been going as well as they should, 
with the great scheme. The general tone of the 
replies hasn’t been satisfactory, people look at 
the project as a mere commercial venture, and 
like Sir Mordaunt, are sceptical of quick return on 
capital. As if that mattered ! 

Some people approve, but not the most influen- 
tial ones, and the people on whom Mr. Grainge 
depended for immediate support, appear to be 
tied up for the moment. Two are away, one has 
come into a legacy of death duties, and another 


TKe SKy Parlo\jir 


21 


has been hit heavily in Peruvians. Everyone puts 
personal interests before the Empire. Sir Mor- 
daunt is away, fortunately, and is going to be 
away for a month or more, but these last days Mr. 
Grainge has looked worried, and Mr. Richard isn’t 
as fresh and debonair as he ought to be and is 
starting a permanent frown. 

There was another big disappointment to-day, 
and he sat pulling at his lip as if he had forgotten 
I was in the room. Suddenly he jumped up and 
walked up and down the room like a young knight 
who’s overcome with the rottenness of everything, 
and at last he couldn’t help letting out. I had 
never realized how unpatriotic we are as a nation, 
till Mr. Richard flung out the words, and I saw a 
nature like his being hurt. 

Before I thought, I said, *‘Yes, it’s too bad”; 
I’m glad I didn’t stifle my feelings for that word 
just set him off. 

He said everyone was asleep and soft and com- 
fortable, and it was like trying to educate a lot of 
kids. No one expected thanks, but one did expect 
people to see what was going on under their noses. 
In the Alliance, the nation had men who could be 
trusted to push their own country before everything 
and not play fast and loose with British prestige 


22 On tHe FigKting Line 

for the sake of a few dirty shekels. But instead of 
appreciating what was being done, people only 
thought about their miserable dollars and the men 
who were trying to build up the Empire were left 
absolutely unbacked. It was enough to make a 
man chuck the whole beastly business and stick 
to coining money and selling his soul and nation 
as everyone else was doing. 

It was as if I heard the Alliance speaking to me, 
the smallest, most unnoticed little cog in the whole 
machine ; a torrent of fighting energy rushed 
through me, and I felt the Alliance must bring 
this scheme to pass, however blind and apathetic 
the public was. 

“Mr. Grainge will pull things through,” said I. 

“Yes, if he were left a free hand,” chafed Mr. 
Richard. “But the hell of it is, my father’s not 
with him in this, not really with him. He could 
put the whole thing right if he liked. But he won’t 
put a cent of his own money into it.” 

“Doesn’t he believe in it?” said I, a little scared, 
I must confess, by this. 

“Oh, he believes in it, in a way, but he’s not 
doing what he might do,” said Mr. Richard, 
worried and dark with fear. 

Yes, fear. Although he trusted Mr. Grainge’s 


THe SKy Parlo\ir 


23 


plans, I saw that he was thinking of his father's 
money all the time. 

^‘Mr. Grainge will find a way out," said I; 
^‘Money's nothing compared to the idea. Mr. 
Grainge can meet any contingency, he can think 
out a way of getting anything he wants. Your 
father isn’t the only person in the world with 
money. I think it’s“splendid that Mr. Grainge is 
left alone to carry the whole thing through. Now 
you’ll all see he’s independent of anybody’s 
money.’’ 

“Unfortunately, money’s everything in this 
world,’’ said Mr. Richard. 

“It’s not, it’s just the servant, it’s nothing in 
itself. Mr. Grainge has thought out how to make 
the deserts full of use and life, for the glory of the 
Empire ; all the money in the world couldn’t think 
out the tiniest plan of improving or helping any- 
thing; Mr. Grainge will have what money he 
needs, you see,’’ said I. 

Mr. Richard stood and looked at me as if I 
were a desk or chair which had suddenly spoken 
intelligibly. 

“You look as if you’d come into a fortune, ’’ said 
he. 

“ It’s the sun on my face, it’s so jolly and warm,’’ 


24 On tKe FigHting l^ine 

said I, feeling unaccountably happy, as if we had 
really all the money in the world behind us. 

“It’s the sun in your face,” said Mr. Richard; 
“you’ve quite bucked me up,” and then suddenly 
the sim came out in his face, and he smiled at me, 
the nicest, friendliest sort of smile. 

I looked down on my pad ; I wanted to cry with 
happiness. I felt as if I had been taken into the 
whole splendid business and accepted by my chiefs 
as a living, breathing helper instead of a machine. 

We didn’t speak again except about the letters. 
I think Mr. Richard was shy at having said so 
much, and I was terribly shy at having said any- 
thing at all; but when I went out of the room, 
though he didn’t look up from his desk, in fact, 
rather more down on it than usual, everything was 
different. I was a member of his team, not an 
imbecile parasite like — I really must not despise 
Miss Beckles and Miss Patten so much. They are 
English too. But I feel like an English man, and 
they are such unmistakable English women. 

I feel nearer my heroes to-night. Their grim 
eyes look at me as if to say, “What a fuss about 
nothing”; the uniformed array remind me armies 
are made up of fighting men, and I am only 
one of a million of people who’ve loved their 


TTHe SKy Parloxir 


25 


country; but never mind, I am on the fighting 
strength. I’m ready to do things for my country, 
and I love my work; I don’t only want to catch a 
husband and live in a kennel growing fat. This 
business of Empire is mine and someone who (for 
all his youth), is among the men who care and do 
things, has been helped by me to-day. 

Feh, 8th, Monday, 

The most terrifying thing about the City, is the 
way the noise and rush go on when one’s depressed 
and isn’t in the mood for effort; then the traffic 
sweeps by like a flood which has no mercy. Every- 
one is hurrying for personal gain, no one cares 
for the fellow-beings that pass by; on we go, 
thinking of our own concerns, full of our own 
troubles, anxious for our own desires, blankly 
indifferent to anybody else’s business, and, if 
we catch a peep of someone else’s private life, 
contemptuous. 

What sort of a life does Mr. Grainge lead when 
he isn’t at the office, I wonder; where does he 
glide away to in his car? Where does Mr. Richard 
go to, after office hours? For eight or nine hours 
every day we are all shut up together, and then 
the City disgorges us and tosses us back into our 


26 


On tKe Fi^Hting Line 


separate spheres. How different they are! And 
how some of us would scorn each other’s ! 

Funnily enough, the men go back to ease and 
comfort and general softness. One can’t imagine 
Mr. Grainge handling an onion, peeling it, bending 
over a poky little grate and frying; one can’t 
imagine Mr. Richard rubbing a saucepan with 
Monkey brand in a very small tin basin, after a 
bread-and-milk supper. But Miss Patten cooks 
her mother’s supper when she gets in, and cleans 
the fiat, makes her clothes and mends and brushes 
them ; and I have to do everything for myself, and 
even one room takes a lot of cleaning when one 
comes home late and tired. 

It’s a strange idea that women are the weaker 
sex and are taken care of. If one could fly over 
the City at mid-day and see it feeding, it would 
look as if the stronger sex had grabbed the best 
places and shoved the women into pretty poor 
conditions. Few business women are in the com- 
fortable restaurants and hotels. They don’t get 
there because they are weak and haven’t the 
courage or initiative in business that men show; 
but Miss Patten’s articles are foolish when they 
paint woman’s weakness as her chief treasure. If 
men really worshipped our weakness they would 


TKe SKy Parlour 


27 


give us the big salaries and comfortable restaurants 
and Turkey carpeted offices. Weakness never 
gets rewarded, whether in women or men. 

I’ve always liked men to have the best of every- 
thing for I consider they deserve it, but to-day 
something happened that humiliated me. 

We passed Mr. Richard as we were going into 
The Teashop. He didn’t see us; he was with 
another man; both very smart and eager and 
pressing forward. But the sight of him made my 
eating-place squalid and sordid. I hated being 
relegated to that sort of place; I hated the cocoa 
and apricots and cream which Miss Patten and I 
generally have, sharing the cream; I felt pressed 
down with hundreds of noisome, wriggling animal- 
cula under a glass. The weight on the top could 
never be moved although we could see the other 
world from which we were cut off forever. 

It’s despicable to be grubby, and I hate being 
despicable. 

Feb. JOthj Wednesday. 

Well, well, there’s something worse than being 
poor. Miss Patten has an admirer. I have 
lunched with her for the last time ; it was as if she 
and the young man were in an illuminated disc, 


28 


On tHe FigKting L^ine 


smirking and mincing and totally oblivious of 
everyone around them, except that they had a 
vague idea, I think, that they were showing off to 
great advantage, and I was an envious and admir- 
ing audience. 

Thank goodness, I never shall know any men to 
smirk at me. 

I felt sick with scorn. He has a little moustache 
which he twirls, and he says, *‘0h, ah, you say so, 
don’t you, I don’t think,” in a cunning, knowing 
manner, and Miss Patten dared to tell him she had 
no opinion of men ! 

I ordered my own cream and left them to it. 

Miss Patten came back late, all in a flutter, and 
told me she was awfully annoyed with him for 
being such an idiot about her, but she really 
couldn’t help it. If ever I encourage a man to talk 
to me, which heaven forbid, I won’t lie about it. 
If it’s womanly to mew about and mince and pose 
in a way that wouldn’t deceive a kitten. I’ll be 
furiously unwomanly. 

Though Miss Beckles is that. She believes in 
being bold; she says it pays. She looks on men as 
penny -in-the-slot machines, to be plundered. The 
only way to keep one’s self-respect, is to concentrate 
on business. 


XKe SKy Parloxir 


29 


I turn out of the street and set my foot in the 
hall of the Alliance, and I’m in my own little niche 
in the world and can hold up my head. I am part 
of a great Imperial power, and I’m used to every 
mark on the wall, and every tread of the stair- 
carpet, and the door that I pass hides the splen- 
did comrade I work with, for that’s what Mr. 
Richard is, and the further door shuts in our Chief. 
And then comes the dingy stair to our quarters, 
and that’s the homiest part of all. 

Feh. iith^ Thursday, 

Well of all the funny presents that anybody 
ever had ! To-night I have received a hot veal 
cutlet ! 

I wonder if even Miss Patten could make a 
romance out of that? When I think of it, I want 
to laugh. 

I was very tired to-night ; Mr. Grainge and Mr. 
Richard are working all they know to get results 
before Sir Mordaimt comes back. Mr. Richard 
talks freely now. I do like working with him. If 
ever there was a man’s man, it’s he. But he has a 
tremendous lot of work to do, and when he has 
gone, I have to stop and do it. I love doing it, 
but when I have to go down to the post-office to 


30 On tHe Fi^Hting Fine 

catch the late mail, it finishes me off. When I 
got in to-night, I found there was no butter; I 
couldn’t have gone out again if I’d been hungrier 
than I was. I didn’t feel I could light the fire; 
I dropped into the chair and wanted to cry, only 
I can’t break down before my people on the mantel- 
shelf. But I could only just buck up. 

Then Jack Ford walked in with a frying-pan. 

He had just received a wire, inviting him to 
supper, and he was going away the next day and 
didn’t think it would keep. He was as casual as 
if I had been his cook and he had come into the 
kitchen and said: “Here, you might as well finish 
up this.” 

When he saw me twinkle, he twinkled back, in 
his confidential way, as if life generally was a 
pretty good joke, and it was convenient I happened 
to be there to clear out his larder. 

He was in a hurry to be off, and really didn’t 
give me a chance to refuse his gift, merely asked 
me to put the pan inside his door and be sure and 
get the black off the bottom. He took it for granted 
I should wash-up. Well, I should, of course, but 
when a man comes in and finds a girl deadbeat, 
it does seem queer that he should give her in- 
structions about doing things for him; I could 


THe SKy Parlour 


31 


scarcely believe my ears. But dear me, he might, 
yes, he might have been speaking to his cook. 

I have cleaned his pan as it hasn’t been cleaned 
in its lifetime. It was caked with grime, the dirt 
of years. Get the black off the bottom, indeed ! 

Feb. I2th, Friday. 

We met on the landing this morning. I told 
him the pan had been very dirty. He said, “Yes, 
he hated washing-up. A woman was a better 
hand at that sort of thing!” 

He looked as cheery as ever, quite smart this 
morning in a new suit. I wonder what he does. 
A lot of people come to see him; when he isn’t out, 
there’s nearly always someone there in the evening. 
I can’t get over his cheek about that pan. 


CHAPTER II 


FEBRUARY VIOLETS 
Feh. 20th, Saturday, 

'^HERE was a wetness in the air to-day which 
^ made me think of spring ; I stood and drank 
it in. The tide was rushing up in freshets and the 
air was salt upon my face. I shook the crinkles 
out as I stood there. Battersea presses me and 
creases me, but the wetness and the waters were 
so fresh. 

Father once made a poem that said the river 
was the song of London, starting with crashing 
chords where the sea thimders in, and warships 
ride at anchor, and docks and yards and barracks 
smear its course. A cloud of smoke shadows the 
green fields through which it wends its way, but 
there is something majestic in the grimy flood, 
and the sunsets turn the water and the marshes 
into flame. Then the river is met by clanking 

anvils and the roar of fires, and is drawn into the 
32 


February Violets 


33 


hungry city where the warehouses gape open. 
There the commerce of the world eddies back and 
forth, devoured and sent out forever; and freed, 
the river flows on into the sim-dipped reaches where 
men play and rest. 

To-day, the river came up in a cold, grey flood, 
and I remembered father saying England was a 
male coimtry; the tide was so remorseless and so 
strong. 

But there was a hint of laughter and sweetness 
in the moist soft wind that puffed about the waters, 
welcoming them. I too welcomed the flood ; I too 
rejoiced to see it come. 

There were violets in the streets, giving out such 
hardy sweetness. How precious they are in this 
grey season! Their petals don’t get nipped, they 
are oases of growing things. I love the cold wet 
bimches one gets when they are plentiful, but this 
morning the bunches were small and three pence 
each. Too much. 

If I’d bought one, oh, if I’d bought one — ^for 
something has happened which I am certain isn’t 
right. And yet there was nothing in it, very much. 
Only I have an ruicomfortable feeling, as if I’ve 
sinned ever so little against the office. 

There was a stir of spring everywhere, though 


3 


34 On tHe Fig'Kting Line 

the sky was grey. When I went into Mr. Richard^s 
room such a lovely scent rushed out that I couldn’t 
help saying, “English, aren’t they?” 

You can’t mistake the sweetness of real English 
violets. 

He was wearing a bunch of the neat small 
violets that grow in sheltered woods imder the 
dried leaves ; oh, but they were sweet ! 

“Yes, from Devon ; my florist has special orders,” 
said Mr. Richard. “It’s extraordinary how diffi- 
cult it is to get the real kind. Do have them!” 

He slipped the bunch out of his coat, and held it 
out across his desk. 

“It’s all right, it’ll freshen up your office,” said 
he ; and then he began to blush for I was standing 
like a dummy, growing crimsoner and crimsoner. 
Everyone in my office knew I hadn’t come with 
violets, and if I went back with these, what 
wouldn’t they say? 

“Thank you very much,” said I. “They’re 
rather strong.” 

“But that’s the beauty of them,” said Mr. 
Richard. “Look here, you aren’t going to tell 
me the scent’s too much for you; please think 
out something cleverer than that.” 

There was a little obstinacy in his voice, as if he 


F“ebr\iary Violets 


35 


knew he hadn’t acted quite wisely, and was daring 
me and himself. It was all very well for him to be 
resolutely commonplace ; for nothing he could offer, 
would I have gone back to our room, having to be 
resolutely commonplace to Miss Patten and Miss 
Beckles. 

^‘No, thank you,” said I. It was stupid that 
he couldn’t give them me. I hated standing there 
like a simpering prig; and I was insane to blush. 
I could see he was furious that I’d blushed. And 
he was blushing too, and perfectly mad because 
he was. For I’m confident that when he offered 
them, he’d done it without thinking. 

He’s so natural and straightforward. No 
wonder he resented being put into a false position. 

‘‘Oh, very well,” said he, and went on with his 
letters. 

I wish I’d left it alone, but I could tell by his 
voice that he was angry, and I hated him to think 
I was self-conscious and thought he’d meant 
anything by it. 

I knew if I waited till he’d finished, I should 
never dare to speak (how I wish I had waited) , so 
I suddenly burst out. 

I explained that I hated anyone to talk of any- 
thing except business, inside the office, and I felt 


36 On tHe Fi^Ktin^ Line 

at any cost, one must keep up discipline. By the 
time I’d finished, it sounded as if I wanted the 
violets desperately; but I did want him to under- 
stand I hadn’t refused them because I hadn’t 
valued them. 

He was redder than ever when I’d done, but 
nice, almost too nice. 

He ought not to have said, “What a little brick 
you are!” 

I can’t say “Rot” to anyone like him. And we 
must not start blushing at each other. It gives a 
bad impression. He was looking at me, and I was 
looking down, and we weren’t saying anything for 
I didn’t know what to say, and he didn’t seem to 
want to say anything, when we both jumped and 
flamed scarlet. Mr. Grainge looked in. 

“Oh, I didn’t hear anyone, I thought there was 
no one here,” said he. 

“ Did you want me, sir? I’m almost through, ” 
said Mr. Richard, and we plunged in, and Mr. 
Grainge retired. 

It would have been unbearable if Mr. Richard 
hadn’t made a little joke. He glanced up with 
the glimmer of a smile as I was going, and said, 
“ Is it discipline to disobey orders? ” 

“Doesn’t it depend on what the orders are?” 


February Violets 37 

said I. Nothing’s very bad if one can laugh about 
it. 

'‘I think not,” said Mr. Richard. 

“If the orders don’t bring credit on the office,” 
said I, “I think it’s right to ” 

“Disobedience is never right, it’s anarchy,” 
said Mr. Richard, very firm and handsome. 

“I was going to say, I think it’s right to point 
out the order may be a mistake, if you’re certain 
it is a mistake,” said I. “And ask for — further 
orders.” 

Mr. Richard’s eyes danced. 

“Very smart,” said he, “very smart, indeed; 
very well, then, wait for further orders. Miss 
Blunt.” 

His eyes were shining with sheer mischief. I 
went out of the room, very happy somehow, but 
the uneasy feeling was there. It was as if he’d 
started a sort of battle; I know he’ll try and trip 
me up, for fun. He is only a boy, and such a nice 
one. I wonder what Mr. Grainge saw — and 
thought. 

Later, 

The further orders have arrived. I knew some- 
how; but how good of him. I’ve never had 


38 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

flowers sent me before; it seems incredible that 
anyone could think of sending such a quantity, it 
feels almost sinful to possess so many. 

How different the room looks, how different 
everything is; a few minutes ago I was scribbling 
away, with my mind fixed on one tiny little bunch 
of violets as a treasure, and now the table’s piled 
with them, every jar is full, and the room breathes 
out luxury and ease and spring ; above all, spring. 
London spring; spring in the country isn’t ex- 
pensive; I can’t get away from the thought of the 
amount those violets must have cost. 

Oh, how good of him, how good of him. 

Such a lovely hamper too, that I can use; I’ve 
wanted a nice basket to keep potatoes in, instead 
of my dirty old soap-box ; they can be stowed away 
now daintily. 

And it was so jolly to send his card with 
Further orders,” on it. 

Oh, I’m glad I didn’t take his little bunch; no 
one need know of these; though they’re so bounti- 
ful it seems too bad someone else can’t share them. 

I shan’t feel a bit shy about thanking him; I 
don’t mind what happens between him and me, 
I don’t like the other people in the office to know, 
because they’re silly and sordid. 


February Violets 


39 


Oh, the scent of them; and the sight of them; 
it’s like being lifted suddenly into heaven. 

Feb, I2th^ Sunday, 

I don’t often have anything to give people, and 
when the violets came, it occurred to me that here 
was a chance to pay back Jack Ford. He asked 
me to come in, and I was curious enough to step 
inside for a few minutes; but it gave me quite a 
shock when I found he was introducing me to 
someone. 

^ The firelight scarcely reached inside the chair 
where the girl sat, but it caught her short velvet 
skirt cut up almost to her knees, her pretty silk- 
clad ankles and brightly -buckled shoes. There 
was an expensive scent stealing from her furs, and 
an expensive air about her attitude. 

I have never been close to anyone like that 
before. She was very pretty, but I wasn’t so much 
struck by that as by her air of leisure. She lay 
in the chair like a dropped flower. 

Coffee was brewing on the hob, and Jack Ford 
squatted on the rug and asked if I believed in 
boiling it, as if he had known me all his life. The 
girl peeped at me over the top of a great muff, 
pouting her underlip and sucking in her top one in 


40 On tKe FigHting L^ine 

a funny, thoughtful way. Her eyes were heavy- 
lidded and long-lashed, and she only used the 
least possible amount, to see through. She was 
like a soft secret thing lurking and peeping and 
waiting in the shadow. 

I kept noticing little things about her, which 
increased the sense of expensiveness; the way her 
hair was waved, the way it shone, the whiteness of 
her hands, her pink and glittering nails. 

The coffee wouldn’t boil and she still said no- 
thing to us and presently it dawned on me that 
we were both being ignored. I don’t know how I 
guessed she was offended at Jack Ford talking to 
me, but I know she was. And I know, too, that he 
remained perfectly amiable and chatty, which 
annoyed her more. It wasn’t pleasant to feel I 
wasn’t wanted, and had only been asked in be- 
cause I had brought him flowers, and I was 
contemplating an excuse for going when the 
coffee bubbled over and Jack Ford hurried to 
pour it out. He served me first, and the girl 
drew back her hand, and when he came with 
hers, gave him a sudden melting glance as if she 
had decided to open fire. 

But he settled down on the rug as if we were all 
dear friends, and chatted away about the piano he 


February Violets 


41 


is going to have and asked if I liked music, and 
could I hear through the wall. I can see he likes 
to give pleasure if it doesn't give him trouble. I 
couldn't drink my coffee quickly for it was scald- 
ing, but I did wish he wouldn't pay any attention 
to me. I felt the girl was getting more and more 
annoyed. Though she only held her coffee and 
looked at the fire with her head thrown back, her 
eyes sleepily blinking, and her long white throat 
rising from the furs like a flower stem that had 
been grown in a hothouse. 

“ Here I am, " she seemed to be saying, “ I know 
my worth. Insult me as much as you like by not 
attending to me, I'm above it." For such a 
superfine creature extinguished all the other 
human beings round her. 

Then suddenly she broke through our conversa- 
tion as if she had neither heard a word, nor cared 
to hear. 

“Of all the people passing in the street below, 
who could guess what is going on here?" said she. 
“The fairyishness of life is so much more fairyish 
than anything one could imagine. Who could 
picture sane human beings climbing all these stairs 
simply to sit in a chair and drink coffee which is 
not good, and never will be, if you boil it. " 


42 On tHe Fig'Hting' Line 

So that was what they had been quarrelling 
about ! 

“ It is excellent coffee, ” said Jack Ford. I ask 
for the casting vote. Let us have justice. ” 

Now he was mildly aggrieved. 

I said I thought it wasn’t half bad considering. 

“Oh, come, come,” said he, “it’s awfully good.” 

“I don’t think the saucepan was quite clean,” 
said I, “it has that taste.” 

“Oh, now, you consider yourself justified in 
overhauling my domestic arrangements, do you; 
how like a woman! Once give her the slightest 
privilege and she can’t keep her hands off your 
belongings. Now I suppose you’ll expect to wash 
my coffee-pot,” said Jack Ford. 

Whether he was joking or no I could not say. 
I do really believe he would have allowed me to 
wash his pot and saucepan because I had drunk 
some of the coffee. 

“Then you do think it worth while to climb all 
these stairs for the purpose of drinking this exe- 
crable boiled coffee?” said the girl, oh, so sweetly. 

I never heard such a winning, persuading, teasing 
voice. She peeped at me with large, shy eyes, in 
the most fascinating way, as she spoke. 

“It is not execrable; I’ve never heard such 


February Violets 


43 


rudeness,” said Jack Ford. “Coffee is the one 
thing a man can always make.” 

“But to climb all these stairs,” said the girl, 
still peeping at me in her pretty coaxing way, as 
if we were together in this little joke. She can 
make one feel in things. Jack Ford was the person 
left out, now. 

“You see, I don't climb the stairs for that 
purpose, I live here,” said I speaking as if she were 
a child. 

“Oh dear, you always do find out everything 
you want to, don't you,” said Jack Ford in an 
exasperated way. “Why did you tell her?” 

“Why shouldn't I?” said I. 

“Because she's so darned clever,” said Jack 
Ford. 

The girl's cheek was on her muff in the most 
delicate, pretty attitude. Did she take any notice 
of us? Oh dear, no. 

“Looking into the tops of buildings is very 
interesting, but looking into people's thoughts 
would be much more so,” she mused, making 
very large melting eyes at the fire. “I do wish 
I could look into every person's mind and see if 
she or he were capable of understanding me. I do 
waste such a lot of time on people who aren't my 


44 On tKe FigHting l^ine 

sort of people at all and never will be. ” Then she 
sighed as if she really meant it. And looked down 
so that we were again left out of things. 

“I should say a good many people waste valu- 
able time in trying to understand you/’ said Jack 
Ford, pouring out a second cup of coffee osten- 
tatiously. 

“But there is something interesting to un- 
derstand, even if they can’t tmderstand it, in 
me,” said she. “So they do get something from 
the exercise when they succeed. My trouble is 
that I try to find interesting individualities in 
ruled copy-books.” 

“Well, you can’t call me that,” said Jack Ford, 
too confidently. 

“There can be ruled copy-books of Social- 
ism,” said the girl. “Platitudes on capital and 
labour and justice and equality on straight, 
straight never-ending lines, that never, never 
wiggle. There can be terribly uninteresting 
Socialists. ” 

“To me, nothing is more obvious than the 
typical capricious yoimg lady,” said Jack Ford. 
“I could sit down and write out a time-table of 
every stage in her acquaintance with a man.” 

They were rude to one another ! 


Febrxjary- Violets 


45 

She examined this remark with composed 
thoughtfulness. 

“Caprices never run straight, at all events,^’ 
said she. “Though they may run more or less on 
the same lines — of investigation. ” 

Jack Ford offered me more coffee, and asked if 
I investigated people. 

I told him I didn’t know any. 

“How can you protect yourself if you don’t 
investigate people?” she argued, pouting her lip, 
as if he had differed from her. 

Even Jack Ford couldn’t help smiling. She 
was so adorably spoilt and naughty. 

“It’s a dangerous habit,” said he, shaking his 
head very wisely, as if he was refusing to be 
trapped. And yet one could see he delighted in 
her. Who could help it? 

“You mean it’s a safe habit,” said the girl, 
dewy and innocent, and happy now he was allow- 
ing himself to flirt ever so little with her. Of 
course that was what she meant by investigating. 

“We must form a non-investigating alliance,” 
said Jack Ford turning to me, and now we were 
in things together, and the girl in the chair was 
out of it. She couldn’t be included in the ordinary 
human relations somehow. She must always be 


46 On tKe Fig'Kting' Line 

the whole point of interest, like a star performance 5 
or she felt bored and slighted. Whenever Jack 
Ford looked at me, I felt apologetic to her, and 
wished that he wouldn’t. 

But she was so pretty. She did not strike me as 
being conceited or demanding flattery at all. She 
knew she was the most exquisite creature that 
could very well exist; she knew that everything 
that could enhance her beauty had been attended 
to; she knew that her clothes were expensive and 
perfect ; and she couldn’t forget her value. 

She would never have picked up Jack Ford’s 
onions, she wouldn’t have touched one of them; 
but he would have expected her to. And such an 
unchivalrous attitude of mind naturally annoyed 
her. When he talked of forming a non-investi- 
gating alliance with me, she knew I ought not 
to be on in this scene, while she and Jack Ford 
sparred; and I knew it too. She is clever. She 
didn’t cheapen herself by continuing to flirt 
with Jack Ford; she disassociated herself from 
both of us and left us to watch her performing 
alone. 

“I never make compacts with anyone,” she 
murmured. “There is something about a compact 
which calls to me to break it, instanter; my own 


February Violets 


47 


compacts or other people’s. A compact seems to 
defy me to do my worst.” 

“You are a buccaneer and body-snatcher,” 
said Jack Ford trying to be severe, which pleased 
her. 

“The weed which springs from unearned in- 
crement, I think you put it yesterday,” mocked 
the girl, oh, so daintily. “Why don’t you pull me 
up, if I’m such a plague and nuisance? Why 
don’t you exterminate me?” 

“You try it ! ” said her melting, dewy eyes. How 
she mocked him, aloof and yet so near. He couldn’t 
help looking at her. 

“Of course it’s not your fault,” said he, weakly 
for Jack Ford. “And some pests are much more 
unpleasant, though I’m hanged if that isn’t the 
mischief of you. When one wants to get rid of a 
pest, one can do it. ” 

“But I’m a pest you rather like?” said the girl, 
still mocking. 

Jack Ford answered in a way that made me 
bum. 

“We’ve outgrown the habit of eating raw meat 
or drinking ourselves under the table eoery night,” 
said he. “The day may come when we shall see 
beyond the clothes and body of a woman. You’ll 


48 


On tHe FigHtin^ l^ine 


have the vote soon, Carol; and all your children 
will be brought up to professions. ” 

“But I’m going to marry into the peerage,” 
said Carol, “and have lots of little peeresses; the 
world will always want peeresses to open its 
bazaars, especially pretty ones. Though perhaps 
opening bazaars will become a profession some- 
day.” She was standing up now, putting on her 
hat ; she kept her eyes upon the business in hand, 
and her voice was that of an innocent baby’s, but 
I felt she was hitting hard. She isn’t the sort of 
person to be naturally innocent about anything, 
especially as Jack Ford had meant to tease her. 

“First catch your peer,” said he. 

Carol wrapped a filmy veil arotmd her face and 
fastened it with concentration. 

“If you wouldn’t be caught by a great horrible 
ruffian of a Socialist,” said Carol, answering him 
in a mmmur so low I could only just hear. I don’t 
think there’s anything she’d stop at saying, when 
flirting. 

Jack Ford coloured to his hair, and for the first 
time in owe acquaintance looked silly. Carol 
continued to tie her veil with difficulty, and finally 
turned to Jack Ford, and bent her head, showing 
the dearest white neck. 


February Violets 49 

“Please,** said she, standing drooping before 
him. 

“I’m no hand at that sort of thing,** said he. 
“ It*s woman’s work. Here, you have a try. ** 

Carol turned her head ever so little towards me, 
and waited with no change in her drooping sub- 
missiveness. I tied her veil as best I could. The 
scent of her was like a flower. 

Then she turned to the glass and met Jack 
Ford’s eyes in it, with a sweet level gaze of in- 
vincible deflance. 

“You imagine you can escape me, do you?” 
said the eyes. “You think you’re beyond me. 
Wriggle away, try it, that’s all.” 

She was so unsnubbable. I should think any 
man would be provoked and stimulated. Even a 
common-sense man. A woman would always be a 
little afraid of her. She would take anything she 
wanted, and as she said, she would not scruple to 
break compacts, or cause other people to break 
theirs. Buccaneer is a good name for her. When 
the hat was settled, she gave me the soupgon of a 
bow and smile, quite enough notice for her to 
take of me, — and said good-bye to Jack Ford, 
holding out her hand to him with soft appealing 
eyes as if she were sorry she had been bad. Then 


4 


50 


On tKe Fighting' Line 


she trailed towards the door. As she passed the 
table where my violets stood, she gathered up the 
bunch and rested her face on them; then thrust 
them in her coat, and flashed the tiniest sparkle at 
him. Loot, ” said she, and vanished through the 
door with him at her heels. 

I’ve seen a cat flash out its paw like that. 

It was the cheek of the thing that made my 
heart bump up and down — the violets weren’t 
much but I’d brought them for Jack Ford, and I 
felt she took everything. 

I don’t know when I’ve been more surprised than 
when he came back with the violets in his hand. 
He didn’t say a word about her or the incident, 
just put them back into their pot, and came up to 
the fireplace sticking a violet in his buttonhole, 
and asking if I’d have some more coffee. But I 
felt stupidly shy when she’d gone, and didn’t like 
to stay. 

I wonder who she is. 


CHAPTER III 

JASMINE AT KEW 


March 2nd, 

/V /I ARCH has come in like a lion. There have 
^ ^ been heavy rains, but this morning the 

wind was sweeping the streets so that they dried 
before one's eyes; great white clouds puffed and 
blew through the azure sky; and the light caught 
on the glistening buildings so that they shone like 
golden palaces. Everyone walked briskly, as if 
an adventure might come at any comer. No one 
could plod along to-day, with that great wind 
stirring one up and coming in flopping gusts, and 
hustling one and bustling one and setting one’s 
pulses tingling until one felt glowingly alive and 
eager to hurl oneself against the hardest task that 
could be given. 

To-day, the people seemed on the top of London, 
triumphing, instead of being ground up or pressed 
down or trodden under. The clouds were like 
51 


52 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

flapping banners, mighty as the banners of crowds 
should be. Spring was coming in with drums and 
cymbals, it was a day when great ideas should be 
bom, and when I came into the office, and met Mr. 
Richard, flushed and sparkling, the splendid news 
he had, seemed worthy of the day. 

Mr. Grainge has a new scheme, a philanthropic 
one; the Alliance is to start a fund for colonizing 
the territory it is acquiring; a magnificent Settlers* 
Aid Society. Old soldiers and sailors, small farm- 
ers, engineers, picked men are to be chosen to 
people the new stretches of our Empire. They 
are to start with tools and seed and imple- 
ments and barns and houses. The nation is to 
send out its advance guard properly equipped 
for once. 

The mighty wind seemed sweeping through the 
office as Mr. Richard told me; Mr. Grainge has 
gathered together the shreds of the Almost Done- 
for Scheme, and breathed new life into it. For, if 
we can be sure of waiting crowds of settlers with the 
Alliance-provided capital, the land we want will 
be certainly acquired. Oh, but it’s good to work 
with men. 

Miss Patten had come in pinched and sniffy; 
since her admirer has disappeared she has had a 


Jasmine at Rew 


53 


chronic cold and though she takes a mournful 
interest in her “Snippets” still, she doesn’t accept 
it as religiously as she did. This morning she was 
reading “What a Girl May and May not Accept 
from Men,” and listened to Miss Beckle’s very 
different opinions on the subject supinely. The 
glorious day hadn’t produced any effect on her; 
she was pottering along, busy with her own little 
affairs, and when I told her of the Great Idea, she 
only stabbed her typewriter and said she hoped I 
should have to do the duplicating. Once, she 
would at least have wondered what life as a 
settler’s wife would be like. 

Women are chilly, in every sense. 

But they don’t matter. Mr. Richard is such 
a comrade; we have become friends ever since he 
sent the violets, though it was very embarrassing 
for the first two days as he would not give me a 
chance to thank him. But finally I managed to; 
and since then “Further orders,” has been a joke 
of ours. 

It is jolly to have someone who understands the 
little things that interest me, as well as the big 
ones. 

He was asking this morning what I did on Satur- 
days. When I told him I was going to the river- 


54 


On tKe Fighting Line 


bank at Kew, it turned out that was his favourite 
spot. Most people are content to stay in the 
gardens, but he knows my little gate; and leaves 
the conservatories and the flowering trees and the 
smooth labelled beds and lawns to those who like 
Nature in a high collar and cuffs. We prefer the 
scrambling, broken towpath and the fields and 
swollen, turgid water that refuses to be neat and 
decorous or anything but its undisciplined powerful 
self. 

Father taught me to go out on Saturdays, what- 
ever sort of weather it is, and I’m so glad I’ve got 
into the habit of taking tramps. It’s less expensive 
than matinees. 

Besides one has to rush off to a matinee; and I 
can tidy my room and start for my tramp when I 
want to. 

It would be funny to meet Mr. Richard at Kew. 
I suppose we should bow formally, as if we didn’t 
work together all the week and share the same 
ideals, and look at everything from exactly the 
same point of view. How imprisoned we all are, 
in our different cells! I wish a wind could come 
some day and blow through the miserable com- 
partments and crack them up and send us all 
rushing together — all those who had common aims 


Jasmine at Rew 


55 

and interests, — to see as much as ever they wanted 
of each other. 

Evening, 

The wind has blown us together. He was on the 
bridge across the moat, looking down into the 
mud. I can’t help feeling he wasn’t as surprised 
to see me as he said he was, because I had told 
him I was coming. But perhaps he doesn’t take 
things in; anyway it doesn’t matter. We are 
friends outside as well as in the office. He accom- 
panied me quite naturally. And oh, it was heaven, 
heaven. 

It’s so much more fun to have someone to talk 
to. 

The river-bank teemed with energy to-day . N ice 
hatless boys tramped along with girls in soft felt 
hats and short skirts and thick boots ; or groups of 
boys in shorts trained for running, and crews were 
out on the water. Jolly, wiry little terriers snuffed 
and padded around their masters and the wind 
tumbled the clouds about and sent them swirling 
in broken ranks across the sky, and slapped the 
water, and rumpled the trees, and everything was 
bursting with life and newness. I loved the mud 
and broken bank and crossing-places where we had 


56 On tHe Fi^Kting l^ine 

to go in single file. I loved the grey cold water, 
that hurled itself down to the sea, and the keen 
cold air, and the moistness and wetness. One felt 
so hardy and impervious to the worst the weather 
could do. Though the first part of the walk, every- 
thing was golden and gleaming and blue. 

It was so strange and jolly to be together, and 
find out what our private selves are like. I was 
introduced formally to Binkie, the dearest white 
pup, whom Mr. Richard calls his hound”; and 
we talked about Cookham. And Mr. Richard 
loves dripping toast, and stays at a little pub 
where they give you plates full, piping hot, and 
the river babbles under the window. 

He has the loveliest voice, it’s so eager and 
public-schooly; and his eyes glance at one now 
and then in such a funny way as if he’s letting 
you into some delightful joke that’s a secret from 
everyone else; but he is so positive and vigorous, 
so well set-up and handsome and well kept, so 
charmingly sure of himself, so used to heaps of 
friends, that there’s a feeling of insecurity under 
the joy of being with him. Chance threw us 
together this afternoon but I realized all the time 
how little he belonged to me. It felt as if thou- 
sands of people and interests were plucking him 


Jasmine at Rew 


57 


away. He was going to this place and that; he 
rode and motored and danced and sculled and 
punted and fished, and did everything that young 
men with heaps of money and friends and health 
amuse themselves with. 

Just as he threw himself into the Alliance work 
and schemes, he pitchforked himself into the fun 
of the fair outside. I dwindled into the puniest, 
feeblest specimen of humanity beside him. And 
I wouldn't let myself be happy when he looked 
down on me in a big-brotherly way, and said he 
must come and wake up my sky parlour. 

The sun went in, on our way back, and every- 
thing became peculiarly grey in consequence ; 
besides, it's never so much fun coming back as 
starting. Suddenly, out of the grey wall, there 
broke a branch of dull unnoticeable green, starred 
with flowers, each one open and candid and 
bright against the dulness. We both exclaimed at 
the brave yellow things, caring not a bit for the 
wind or cold but flourishing as gaily as if it were 
summer. And then he said something which will 
make me always happy, however soHtary and 
away from things I am. 

'‘You shine out in the office like that," said he; 
he blurts out remarks sometimes as if he's afraid. 


58 On tKe FigHting Line 

and dares himself to do it, and then gets very busy 
whistling to the hound. 

I felt shy, too, but happy. Stupidly happy. The 
sort of happiness idiots like Miss Patten feel, I*m 
afraid. 

“I’m awfully keen on jasmine,” said I. “It’s 
such a winter flower.” 

“You can have all sorts of flowers in winter,” 
said Mr. Richard. 

“Yes, if you can pay for them,” said I. “But 
the early narcissi always look pinched and nipped, 
the jasmine can stand the fiercest sort of winds 
and the most biting cold, and yet it smiles away 
as if it hadn’t the least idea what a rotten time it 
was really having. ” 

“Like you, eh?” said Mr. Richard, glinting at 
me, and I wanted to cry or something; because 
however kind he is, he is so terribly far away, and 
it’s no use pretending we are truly friends. 

“ I like red roses in winter, deep dark roses that 
scent the room out,” said he; “I should like to 
bury you in them, just for once. There’s nothing 
so ripping as suddenly having enough of something 
you’ve only had teasing little snatches of, especially 
when everything is against your having it and you 
have to overturn everything that is, to get it. 


Jasmine at K.ew 


59 


Don’t you want things you’ve no chance of getting 
and no right to have?” 

As he spoke, I wanted them most awfully. 

His voice made me hot and shivery, as if he were 
saying something he had no business to. It is the 
daring way in which he speaks. We walked on 
without saying anything for a bit, he very busy 
with Binkie, and then he blurted out, “Do you 
like roses?” 

“Of course,” said I. 

“I could never be sure what you’d like; now 
with most girls I can tell to a T, ” said Mr. Richard. 
“But you’re just a packet of surprises. It was 
awfully sweet of you not to be angry about those 
violets, but I could have sworn you would have 
been.” 

“Oh dear, ought I to have been?” said I, for 
it was such an awful thing to have thanked him 
warmly if he had expected better things from me. 

“You ought to have felt exactly what you did, 
and thanked me in just that way, only not one 
girl in a million could have done it,” said Mr. 
Richard, and because I couldn’t look at him, he 
looked at me, almost as if he were forcing me to 
look up. “Whenever you look up at me in the 
office, I shall see those flowers,” he went on 


6o 


On tKe FigHting Line 


because somehow, he knew I couldn’t say anything 
back now, it was like a spell. “I shall call you 
Jasmine to myself; do you mind — much?” 

We were coming up from the river, through a 
lane between high walls, walking slowly, shut off 
from everything. 

I couldn’t help him calling me anything to 
himself. But I knew it wouldn’t do. There must 
be discipline in an office ; we must respect authority ; 
Mr. Grainge and Mr. Richard cannot mix up with 
people like myself. I knew Mr. Richard ought to 
think of me as Miss Blunt, but it was so lovely to 
hear him call me ^‘Jasmine,” I have such a horrid 
name. But “Jasmine,” glorifies what I am, so 
that I needn’t mind being insignificant. 

Oh, how dreadfully brave one has to be to do 
the right thing in small matters. I wasn’t brave 
enough to point out to him what in my heart, I 
knew. 

He said “Jasmine,” again, looking down at me 
as if he were daring me to be angry; it was so 
much easier to laugh. 

“ Now I could have sworn you would be angry,” 
said Mr. Richard, “You are a surprise packet . . . 
Jasmine.” 

But I hadn’t felt angry ; it was lovely of him to 


Jasmine at Rew 6i 

think of me like that. And one can’t do right 
always. 

A drizzling rain was starting as we came out 
into the old-fashioned green round which the Jane 
Austen houses sit in their little gardens. The way 
they have been smeared over with the screaming, 
shrieking, money-making rush is such a picture of 
the age. It is quite painful to see those sedate, 
genteel old houses covered with placards inviting 
people to come in and partake of tea and water- 
cress, every placard trying to scream louder than 
its neighbour, and waiters on the pavement flap- 
ping huge table-napkins and bawling invitations 
to come in. 

Mr. Richard strode through them with a dis- 
gusted air ; the waiters said such dreadful things to 
— or rather, at us; as if we were a Bank Holiday 
couple. There were taxis on the bridge, and Mr. 
Richard beckoned one, and then turned to me and 
apologized for not being able to stay longer or see 
me home. 

“You must let me pack you up like a parcel, 
addressed With Care,” said he. 

It was senseless to be miserable. But he was 
being swept away from me — his world was claim- 
ing him — and I was insignificant again. The taxi 


62 On tHe FigKting Line 

had started from the rank ; I just had to pull myself 
together. It was no business of Mr. Richard’s 
how I got home, any more than it was my business 
to know where he was going now. We had met by 
accident, our ways had led together for a blissful 
time, and now we must part in a dignified way. 

“I have somewhere to go,” said I, “and things 
to do. Thanks all the same. ” 

“But you haven’t an umbrella,” said Mr. 
Richard. 

“I’ve nothing on to hurt,” said I; “Good-bye.” 

The taxi had drawn up ; if Mr. Richard protested 
there, on the kerb, it would look as if we were 
quarrelling. I smiled and nodded as much like a 
sister or cousin as possible and went off. In a 
minute his taxi whirled past, and I smiled again 
at him. But oh, it was wet and cold, and the bus 
that trundled through Hammersmith was so 
smelly and steamy inside. Hammersmith is a 
dreary, dreary thoroughfare on a wet March after- 
noon. Sometimes wet weather is good fim; one 
marches through it daring the rain to do its worst, 
and the shining streets and dripping houses and 
hurrying, splashing people stimulate one. 

And some days when I have to hold my hat 
and duck my head I feel splendidly hardy and 


Jasmine at K.ew 63 

heroic, as if I were going into battle with the band 
playing. 

But the weather that’s difficult to enjoy is a dull 
drizzle that makes everyone peevish and chilled; 
especially when you start with no fight in you. 
The weather has a way of matching moods; al- 
though the day father died, was the most perfect 
June day I have ever known, and his wretched, 
unsuccessful life seemed mocked by every leafy 
tree and puff of careless, snowy cloud. 

To-day the dreary scene was in harmony with 
my greyness; London was starved and dull and 
cheerless, and by the time I reached Battersea, 
I marvelled that people were fools enough to live 
at all. Where’s the sense of living if you don’t 
enjoy it? As I looked up those long, long flights 
of stairs, I scarcely had the heart to climb them; 
there was only my lonely little sky parlour at the 
top. 

Surely whoever planned this world, never built 
us to be shut up, each by himself, with no one to 
say a friendly word of cheer in the black moments? 
Unless we were built for the express purpose of 
being as miserable as possible. And that isn’t our 
purpose in life ! 

After the bursting energy and fulness of the 


64 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

river, it was wretched to enter that desolate, shut- 
up building, always emptier than usual on Satur- 
days and Sundays. I nearly cried when I opened 
the door of my dingy room, so far away from 
everyone. I hadn’t bothered to light the fire 
when I came home at dinner-time, and the place 
was icy cold. I believe it was the thought of those 
brilliant little flower stars still out in the rain and 
dark, ready to smile again to-morrow, that kept 
me from huddling into bed then and there and 
crying my heart out. But I mustn’t be beaten by 
the cold and dark either, and I foraged about for 
something to eat though I wasn’t particularly 
hungry. And then I came on Mr. Jones’ kipperj 
Directly I saw it, I heard Mr. Jones saying, in 
his confidential purring way: “Keep it against a 
meal when you want a bit of comfort.” I had 
gone into his little shop yesterday, for something 
for supper, and he had pressed me to take the pair 
for three halfpence and save a halfpenny. Mr. 
Jones always cheers me; he is never at a loss for 
something seasonable to say, and his Yorkshire 
accent makes the funny things he says sound 
funnier. His green grocery twinkles with goodwill; 
his boxes are beautifully arranged, his fish glistens 
like his grinning face; and if he hands you a bag 


Jasmine at Rew 


65 


of oranges you feel he goes with you all the way 
and enjoys your enjoyment of each one. Last 
night, as he slapped the kippers into their paper, 
he almost smacked his lips. And he beamed when 
I paid him my three halfpence, and told me a 
halfpenny saved was a halfpenny gained, and that 
I’d never regret it, as if my good bargain made him 
happy. 

Directly I thought of the kipper I began to feel 
himgry and happier, and when my frying-pan 
began to sizzle, the homey feeling of my sky 
parlour came back, and I thoroughly enjoyed my 
tea. 


I have been thinking a lot about classes to-night. 
Some people are independent enough not to be 
troubled by their labels. I can’t imagine Mr. 
Jones resenting being called a shopkeeper. He is 
that and his ambition, I should fancy, is to be a 
good one. I used to think there was nothing I 
would rather be than a business girl. But to- 
night, I can’t help thinking of that girl, Carol. I 
believe I could look pretty if I dressed like her. 
Though I should never be able to mock at men as 
she does. 

How strange it would be to meet a man like 


5 


66 On tKe FigHtin^ Line 

Mr. Richard at a dance ; how exciting to motor and 
ride and golf with him — I suppose lots of girls do. 
And in the office we talk of money and stocks 
and shares, and through the window we look on 
chimney tops, and the air is full of smuts. One 
can’t get to know people properly indoors. 

It seems unfair that some girls should be scented 
and decked out beautifully and taught to dance 
and given heaps of time for pleasure and heaps of 
opportunities for meeting men like Mr. Richard 
through no particular merit of their own, but just 
because they’ve been bom into a certain class. If 
father hadn’t quarrelled with his people I might 
have been brought up like that. From when I 
was tiny I can remember how angry mother was 
because he wouldn’t go to see them. He ought 
not to have consigned me to the mercies of people 
like Aunt Minnie. He ought to have held on to 
his people for my sake. Now he and mother are 
dead, I can never get in touch with them. I am 
set down forever with girls like Miss Beckles and 
Miss Patten. 

It’s funny that Mr. Jones doesn’t mind being 
set down in a green-grocer’s shop. He says its 
the grandest place in the world for getting in 
touch with people. He enjoys being uselul as 


Jasmine at K.ew 


67 


much as I used to enjoy being useful at the Alliance. 

Seems to me, one always gets miserable when 
one starts wanting what one hasn’t got. At the 
present minute, I’m a mass of wants. I want to be 
pretty, to wear elegant provoking clothes, to flirt 
with my eyes, to do just what I want at the 
moment; I’ve got the picture of that girl in my 
mind all the time. And yet she didn’t look truly 
happy. I wish someone would take me by the 
scruff of my neck and kick me. I deserve it. 


CHAPTER IV 


JASMINE IN THE WOOD 


March ^th, Sunday night 

HEN one has been used to thinking about 



^ » oneself all one’s life as an indistinct, hum- 
drum little female, it is almost impossible to 
wake up to the fact that one is of value. Some 
people have the gift of looking at themselves, 
and seeing themselves as an interesting type. 
Miss Patten considers herself ideally domestic 
and Miss Beckles doesn’t recognize her pasty skin 
and unhealthy big black eyes ; she is always pictur- 
ing herself prancing about in the costumes she sees 
at matinees, and she walks with a swagger as if she 
really did prance about on the stage every evening. 

To-day so many beautiful remarks have been 
made to me, that I must recognize the fact that I 
. . . am . . . a . . . person. 

I am someone people look at and wonder about 
and want to know, someone who pleases people 


68 


Jasmine in tHe Wood 69 

with her looks and voice. Even my little sky 
parlour is considered an interesting home. 

I want to be confident that there is something 
in me that is special and peculiar and valuable ; or 
otherwise I should be trembling with fear; I be- 
lieve I am afraid underneath all the time. 

Is it possible that I can do anything for Mr. 
Richard? Oh, is it possible? 

This morning came, just the same as other 
Sundays. The sunlight was jolly, and I had plenty 
of mending, and new braid to put on my skirt, but 
somehow I couldn’t take the usual pleasure in 
getting ahead with everything, ready for the week. 
I wanted the day to be over; it felt empty and 
interminably long. So I didn’t bother to get up, 
and when I did, shuffled about half -dressed and 
didn’t feel I wanted breakfast. I hadn’t washed- 
up from last night and the room was untidy. 

Isn’t there some proverb or something about 
always being ready in case Somebody might come? 
For while I was just beginning to brush my hair 
a tremendous knocking sounded on my door. I 
scurried up my hair, anyhow; it isn’t the sort of 
hair that will scurry up, either; it’s so long and 
soft ; then I slipped on my big coat and opened the 
door. There stood a Messenger Boy with a huge 


70 On tHe FigHting Line 

box. He popped it in my hand, gave me a paper to 
sign, and stared in at the room like a nasty little ani- 
mal. The bed wasn’t made, and the pans were 
strewn about the floor and grate, it was all too awful. 

I shut the door in his face, but he’d seen. 

I knew whom it was from, of course. Long- 
stemmed roses, a little tired, poor things, but oh, so 
sweet and red. Beneath them, was a note, sealed 
heavily, with “Roses in exchange for Jasmine” 
written on it. The room seemed going round and 
round ; it was as if he had come in. I put the letter 
against my face, and it smelt of smoke, just a 
little. It was my own and there was no one to see ; 
but I scarcely dared open it. He was going to say 
something again to me, that belonged to me alone. 
He does write imexpected sort of letters, not a bit 
shy, but as if he was glinting at one, out of the 
corner of his eye, all the time. 

“R. M. is sick of streets and pavements. How 
jolly it would be to find Jasmine in a nice bare wood, 
where we could go squelching through leaves ? Did 
you know woods are quite warm in winter? A 
chariot will be waiting at Hyde Park Corner at 
half-past ten this morning. Further orders later. 

“ A Jasmine Devotee.” 


Jasmine in tKe 'Wood 


71 


It was nearly ten. 

I flew into my coat and skirt, and twisted my 
hair up anyhow ; the room had to be left as it was. 
I had only time to dash the roses into the jug. I 
was half-way down before I remembered I hadn’t 
locked the door. But I couldn’t go back. 

Then I simply tore through Battersea ; I missed 
my bus by a few seconds, it was just disappearing 
round the comer. On the bridge I came on a stray 
taxi and jumped in. I didn’t care a hang. It was 
striking half-past as we whizzed into the golden 
open space where everyone was meeting everybody 
else this morning. I got out at the corner ; as I was 
paying, something slid along the gutter and 
stopped plump by us. Then Mr. Richard was 
shaking hands in a queer, excited way and laughing. 

“Hullo,” said he, “I never thought of you 
coming like that.” 

“I missed my bus,” said I. I couldn’t take in 
anything properly, except that I was with him. 
For as we came down on the crowded streets, I 
had felt hopeless of finding him. 

“I was looking for your face, shining out at the 
corner, somewhere, and you sweep up in a taxi,” 
said he, as if he were pleased. “Come along. I 
know such a jolly wood.” 


72 On tKe FigHting I^ine 

Then we got into the other taxi : and sped away 
together. 

I thanked him for the roses; not very warmly, 
because the silly shyness wouldn't go. I'd have 
given anything to have been able to smile back at 
him ; but I could only sit up like a prig. My hands 
were as cold as ice, and my heart felt dithery. 

“I don’t believe you really care for roses,” said 
Mr. Richard. I felt him staring hard at me. 
don’t care much for them either, now. I shall 
always send you Jasmine in future, or something 
white and sturdy. How about real wild lilies of 
the valley; you know, the rather small ones with 
strong stems, that smell so divinely. I’ll never, 
never, never send hothouse flowers to you again. 
Do forgive me . . . Jasmine.” 

“You were going to think of me as that,” said 
I. I couldn’t thank him for flowers he hadn’t sent 
— ^he might be only talking ; he’s the sort of person 
who talks easily, and it would be impertinence to 
expect him to remember what he promised. 

“I am thinking of you as Jasmine,” said Mr. 
Richard in the sweetest way, as if he were sur- 
prised that I had taken him to task for not think- 
ing of me. I had to laugh. 

“But you’re calling me Jasmine,” said I. 


Jasmine in tKe "Wood 73 

“At present,*’ said he. “There are all sorts of 
names I want to call you, but you’re a rather 
formidable sort of person. You have such a way 
of not looking at a fellow. I don’t like it. Look 
here, have I a smut on my nose?” 

He hadn’t, but he laughed and laughed. 

“ I cannot make out if you are very wise or very 
young,” said he. “Your eyes open exactly like 
flowers.” 

He wasn’t in the least shy now ; only big-broth- 
erly and friendly. But somehow, I liked him 
better when he was shy. When he said such 
lovely things, I couldn’t feel able to keep him. It 
was so easy for him to get on with people. One 
could see it in the way he laughed, and took 
possession of the person he was with. 

I discounted everything he said, as he said it. 
“He has said that sort of thing to millions of 
people, or he never would say it to you, it is his 
way of being pleasant,” said I to myself, and I 
tried to think about the ugly little streets we were 
now rushing through. Small shops, and rather 
larger shops, and villas with small gardens, and 
then stretches of mournful waste ground or smoky 
fields. London isn’t prettily approached. One 
ought to come into a great city, through proces- 


74 


On tHe Fi^Hting Line 


signal avenues, and splendid gates, and ordered 
thoroughfares, and quarters for every sort of 
citizen, all arranged tidily and beautifully, and 
adding to the charm of one another ; but when one 
enters London, one has to climb over its ash-heap 
and dust-bin, and one leaves it with an impression 
of its squalor and dirt instead of its riches and 
beauty. 

“ I say, I am a silly ass; now I’ve offended you, ” 
said Mr. Richard. I couldn’t tell him what was 
depressing me, because I hardly knew myself. It 
was easier to say I hated the little houses, than to 
explain he was much too much for me. “I’m going 
to talk about Binkie, ” said Mr. Richard, lapsing 
into his ordinary self again. He talked about 
footer after that, and told nie about clubs I’d 
never heard of, and men whose names went out of 
my mind as fast as he put them in ; and he told me 
about last year’s Henley and what he hoped for, 
this, and again the events thud-thudded as he dis- 
cussed them, and I couldn’t feel a spark of in- 
terest. But I loved being with him, and it was 
easy to say, “Yes, I see!” “Did they, really?” 
“How splendid!” He told me I was a ripping 
listener. 

I didn’t mind the dulness of the conversation. 


Jasmine in tKe Wood 75 

I love to hear his voice, whatever he says ; and men 
like girls who listen well, better than girls who talk, 
sometimes. Even if it had been more tedious and 
unintelligible than it was, I preferred hearing his 
conversation to anyone else’s; I like him to be 
absorbed in all the things men ought to care for. 

And oh, it was lovely when the houses broke 
away at last, and after clustering together in vain 
attempts at being little towns, scattered and dis- 
appeared, and we were speeding through heather- 
covered ridges, with the country rolling away into 
haze and sunshine. It seemed incredible that we 
had left the city behind so easily. To spirit me 
away like this, made Mr. Richard more kingly 
than ever. But men are kings ; they order and do 
everything, and we are lucky to please them. For 
a moment, I wondered what Miss Beckles or Miss 
Patten would feel like, to be in my place. Think- 
ing of their rapture, helped me to enjoy it more; 
for the slight depression would not entirely go, it 
was as if I were being furiously happy for a short 
time only, and the whole of the happiness was 
soon to be snatched away for ever. Yet it has 
been a wonderful day; even though I never have 
another like it. 

Instead of looking about for a cottage or inn 


76 


On tHe Fi^Kting Line 


where we should be likely to get something cheap 
for lunch, Mr. Richard looked about for the best 
hotel, and at last we turned into the yard of a 
quaint old coaching inn, where in spite of the 
garage and motors everything had a post-horsey 
flavour. We were conducted into a dark sitting- 
room with a monster sideboard, and fortunately 
a crackling fire, and Mr. Richard disappeared to 
order lunch while I tried to arrange my hair by the 
aid of the sideboard glass. Whether it was the 
wind or excitement, I don’t know, but I looked 
wild and strange ; for the first moment I thought I 
looked pretty, until I looked for the pale mouth 
and frowning eyebrows, and found them, alas ! It 
was only the flush of coming in and seeing myself 
unexpectedly that had given the pretty look. I 
smoothed my hair as best I could, and wished with 
all my heart it was golden or red or some dis- 
tinctive colour instead of the usual nutbrown. 
But a pal doesn’t have to be pretty. Dear me, it 
still seems great cheek to think of myself as a pal 
of Mr. Richard’s. 

Lunch was rather jolly, Mr. Richard enjoyed it 
so, and there was such an amusing cruet-stand on 
the table, a monster with a dozen bottles in, each 
holding some different sauce. Mr. Richard tried 


Jasmine in tHe Wood 77 

them all. It was very cosy although I think we 
both felt strange at sitting there in a room with 
no one else. We only seem to know each other 
well occasionally. Part of the time we become 
stiff and awkward and don’t have anything to say. 

Mr. Richard has a trick of jumping up and 
looking for things, as if he refuses to feel shy, but 
that only makes the shyness more conspicuous, in 
a way. 

It was much nicer when we got out of doors, 
and set out for the famous wood. We had to cut 
across a field, and directly people are doing some- 
thing together, like climbing fences, everything 
becomes natural. We might have known each 
other for years by the time we had stumbled over 
a ploughed field, and got our boots clodded until 
we almost stuck to the earth, each step we took. 
But the wood was worth any trouble in finding it. 

The low sun was slanting through the trees, and 
after we had gone a little way, the ground ran 
down into a sheltered dip, into which the sun came 
streaming. The leaves were goldy -brown, the tree 
trunks grey and green and purple, and the de- 
liciously open sky was brilliant blue. We didn’t 
squelch through the leaves, they rustled softly 
as if they welcomed us, and when we came on a 


78 


On tHe FigHtin^ Line 


fine old stubby root bang in the sun, Mr. Richard 
proposed we should sit down. 

Oh, how still it was ! A wood is rather scuffley 
and chirpy in summer, but to-day there didn’t seem 
a single living thing abroad except ourselves. The 
sunlight was moderate and calm, not the sleepy 
baking heat in which one sits and basks. I don’t 
know that I’ve ever felt happier. 

Mr. Richard sat huddled up in his great coat 
with his hands rammed into his pockets, and his 
cap well over his forehead, whistling very sweetly. 
One could see he was loving it all. I jumped when 
he said, “Tell me about yourself.” 

“Oh, bother myself,” said I, for the chief point 
of being out of doors is that one forgets everything 
horrid. 

“But I want to know,” said Mr. Richard, pull- 
ing himself round so that he could look at me, and 
then he added: “Yes, you’ve come out like those 
jolly little beggars we saw yesterday, smiling away 
on the wall. Why don’t you smile all the time? 
You couldn’t believe what a difference it makes. 
Go on. Tell me how you came to our office. ” 

“But what a funny thing to ask,” said I. 
“There’s no story about it.” 

“Then why are you so different from the other 


Jasmine in tHe Wood 79 

girls?** said Mr. Richard. “You*re simply a dif- 
ferent make. I saw it the first time you came into 
my room ; if you can tell a well-bred dog or horse, 
you can jolly well tell the same thing of a girl. 
Why are you in the City?** 

“Because I love it,** said I. My cheeks were 
burning, I didn*t feel happy a bit, for only half of 
me is well-bred. And I didn*t want to tell Mr. 
Richard about the other half. 

“You love it ! ** said Mr. Richard. “ Good Lord ! 
Love grubbing away in that poky little room 
upstairs with two halfbaked . . . My dear girl, 
talk sense ** 

“ I love every bit of it, ** said I, burning again as 
he spoke of Miss Beckles and Miss Patten. De- 
spising people oneself is different from hearing 
them scorned in such a horrid way. 

“But what is there to love? *’ asked Mr. Richard. 

“ Don*t you love it?** said I, with the first shock 
of disappointment; it was terrible to hear him 
speak as if the Alliance didn*t count. 

“Oh, I dunno; yes, I like it all right,** said Mr. 
Richard, and I breathed again; men can*t talk 
about the things they really care for, not easily, 
at any rate. “But then I have all the interesting 
things to do; I don’t sit there and take orders.** 


8o On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

But what does it matter what one’s part is in a 
glorious undertaking? The tiniest part of it can 
feel part of it, and love the great ideas all are 
working for, and triumph in their triumph ; the ideas 
couldn’t be carried out either, if some people weren’t 
there to lick stamps and envelopes, and carry them 
to post, to say nothing of writing out the letters. 
What use would a landscape gardener be, if there 
weren’t men to dig and sow? And what use would 
men like Sir Mordaunt and Mr. Grainge and Mr. 
Richard be, if there weren’t an army of ready, loyal 
workers to execute what they think out? 

Some people have to earn their living by petty 
humdrum businesses but we are working for grand 
ideals, and however faint the grasp we have of 
them, we under- workers, yet their grandeur per- 
meates the details of the daily round. A single 
letter may establish the Empire a little more 
firmly in some far comer of the earth ; to keep up a 
reliable speed may mean a little more peace, and 
thereby, a little more freedom to think out plans, 
for a great mind like Mr. Grainge’s. One does the 
work because one loves it for its own sake, but it’s 
fine sometimes to think of its meaning, to try 
and catch the vision that the leaders see ; no drudg- 
ery seems dmdgery then. 


Jasmine in tKe Wood 8l 

Since I’ve worked with Mr. Richard, everything 
has been so much more seeable, too. 

I tried to tell him this. And how splendid it was 
that he had come to the Alliance, and Mr. Grainge 
had such a lieutenant; and how I loved doing 
anything, anything I could to help. They couldn’t 
keep me there too late, or give me too much to do. 

Mr. Richard didn’t look at me, now, and I al- 
most forgot him, in a way; it was so lovely to be 
able to speak to the Alliance in person, and say a 
fraction of what I felt. 

For a minute I thought he was bored, for men 
don’t like to talk shop out of hours; but he was 
only considering; and presently he said, “That’s 
topping” in the nicest voice. 

He whistled again for a minute, as if he were still 
thinking, and then pulled himself together, and 
said, “Fancy you thinking all that of Grainge!” 

“Don’t you?” said I. 

“Yes, but I can see what a big chap he is; my 
father doesn’t, you know; jolly few people do; they 
can’t understand a man with his flowery way of 
putting things, being practical; and they think he 
aims too high. But no one gets anywhere if they 
don’t aim high. What does my father want to do? 
Nothing, except grub shekels together. Grainge 
6 


82 


On tKe Fighting' Line 


likes to feel his fingers on the Universe. I tell you, 
he’s the biggest personality alive to-day, and will 
scratch his mark higher than city level. You 
watch!” 

“Then why are you surprised at my thinking 
about him as I do?” said I. 

“I suppose because you’re a girl,” said Mr. 
Richard, smiling down on me in his kingly manner. 
“One doesn’t expect girls to like men for that 
sort of thing.” 

“It’s the only thing I like them for,” said I. 

“You are a surprise packet,” said Mr. Richard; 
“By Jove, there’s some point in making a girl 
like you, . . .” He broke off with a giggle, that 
was very jolly, because he was obviously on the 
point of saying something friendly. But he didn’t 
take his eyes off me, only stared and stared. “ I 
suppose that’s why it’s so ripping to be with you, ” 
he went on; “you make a fellow feel in form, as 
if he can lick anything and anyone; you expect 
him to, don’t you? Like when you pulled me up 
for worrying about the land scheme. You said 
Grainge would see it through, and this last move 
looks as if it’s going. He’s in, for all he’s worth; 
he’s backing himself for once against the governor, 
and he’s got to pull it off. ” 


Jasmine in tKe "Wood 83 

“ And he will, '' said I. “It isn’t as if he’s selfish ; 
it’s glorious how he can think of other people when 
he’s so worried. Who else would trouble about the 
settlers? Who else would think of all those tiny 
private individuals? Imagine the trouble he’ll 
have in organizing such a complicated charity, 
and yet he thinks nothing of it, but flings himself 
into it, heart and soul, and gives his services for 
nothing. And for what? For the sake of helping 
hundreds of men who’ll never know he’s done it; 
and for England.” 

Mr. Richard continued to look at me in rather 
a queer way; it was idiotic of me to want to cry, 
but when I think of the bigness of great men’s 
hearts, and their unrewarded, unknown labours, 
I do get choky. One can at least adore such 
people. 

Mr. Richard is a surprise packet, too; after 
nursing his chin for a minute or two, he said, 
“You’d make a topping pal.” 

“I haven’t one,” said I. 

“A man would be in luck to have you for a 
friend,” said Mr. Richard, still thoughtful. 
“You’re such an extra-special sort of pal; one 
who’d fight to the last ditch. I knew you’d make 
a pal like that.” 


84 On tHe FigHting Line 

He wasn’t fooling or teasing or daring any more, 
but quiet and serious; the wood was stiller than 
ever. The sunlight was pale yellow, like the skies. 
There wasn’t so much of it now, and the air was 
colder. I sat still, for I’d nothing to say. I 
couldn’t believe such happiness. And yet at the 
same time, it was true. Mr. Richard suddenly 
reached out, and put his hand on mine. 

^^Pals, eh?” said he. “Is it a bargain?” 

I couldn’t speak, but I nodded. 

Mr. Richard kept his hand on both mine, with a 
confronting squeeze ; his hand is so big and strong. 

“I’m an extremely jealous person and like 
keeping my friends to myself, in water-tight com- 
partments ; I shall keep you in a water-tight com- 
partment, so that when I’m bored or worried, I 
can come and always find you. Will you promise 
to be there?” 

I nodded again. 

“All to myself,” said Mr. Richard. “And just 
you and I will know, I hate people to talk.” 

My head went up; as if I should ever speak of 
this to a soul, if I knew anyone to talk to, which I 
don’t. 

“I don’t talk,” said I. 

“Bless you,” said Mr. Richard. “I warn you 


Jasmine in tKe Wood 


85 


I believe I’m going to get very fond of you, I do 
get awfully fond of my pals.” The depression 
came up in a big wave at that. For he was so far 
away, really. 

“I shall want to know heaps of things about 
yourself, and I never tell my pals about myself, so 
you see you’re going to have the best of the bar- 
gain there,” said Mr. Richard. “Unless I have a 
blue fit, and then I shall just tell you I want buck- 
ing up. And now and then, when you’re doing 
my letters, I shall think of you as Jasmine, eh?” 

“Not at the office,” said I quickly. 

“Why that’s where we’re the best pals of all,” 
said Mr. Richard, “Isn’t it, oh fellow-Graingite?” 

His hand was still on mine. 

Somehow, I knew we must keep our friendship 
quite, quite apart from the office. 

“I don’t think we ought to think about each 
other then,” said I. “Only about what we’re 
doing. I can’t be friends unless you agree to 
that. ” 

“What, not when your eyes smile out and your 
funny frowning little face uncrinkles?” said Mr. 
Richard. “Sometimes you’re such a solemn little 
Jasmine, without a single bit of yellow shewing; 
every bit of you rolled up ; I was awfully afraid of 


86 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

you till the first time you opened your eyes at me 
and smiled. Then IVe never been afraid of you 
again. The tighter you shut up, the more fun it is 
teasing you, imtil your eyes open. Do you know, 
I’m becoming very clever at making you smile?” 

“But you mustn’t think of such things at the 
office,” said I, half happy, but knowing all the 
time, he must not think these thoughts at the office, 

“I mustn’t think of them here a second longer, 
or I don’t know what’ll happen, ” said Mr. Richard 
suddenly letting go my hand and jumping up. 
“To say nothing of the fact I want my tea. ” 

Oh, I was stiff. Mr. Richard had to pull me up. 
We stamped about to get our feet warm; then Mr. 
Richard suggested running and took hold of my 
arm, and bustled me through the wood and over 
the field till we were weak with laughing. 

“You’re just as good as a boy,” said he. “I 
should have said you were such a girly-girl, but 
you’re not a bit. ” 

“I love sewing and fussing about my room,” 
said I, and pictured him curled up before the fire 
in my sky parlour. 

“You’ve got to tell me about your room, and 
where you live, and some day I shall come to tea, 
and you shall give me dripping toast. Do you 


Jasmine in tKe Wood 87 

think we shall get dripping toast now? Does 
dripping come from chickens?” 

When we were in the taxi, Mr. Richard put his 
hand through my arm and took hold of my hand 
in a comforting, friendly way, as if I did truly and 
really belong to him, and we had sealed a bargain, 
and were different now. 

He didn’t talk much, but stared ahead as if he 
were thinking, and I daren’t interrupt him. Be- 
sides, it was so lovely to be speeding along with no 
trouble, in the gathering darkness. I shut back 
all the little prickly doubts that would keep trying 
to get in; it would have been silly to have pulled 
my hand away when he took it for granted we were 
real friends now. 

He came with me all the way to Battersea, and 
when we went over the bridge, leaned forward 
and gave a sigh of joy in the beauty of it all. 

“Oh, I do love London,” said he. “There’s no 
place like it. One is so absolutely free to do any- 
thing one jolly well wants to. ” 

“I like getting out of London, too,” said I, for 
I wanted the solemn wood to stay with me, and 
every minute was taking it away or trying to; 
London was going to swallow him up, now; I had 
no chance of keeping him from London. 


88 On tKe Fighting Line 

“Is this where you live?” said Mr. Richard as 
we turned into the dark, deserted street. “ I say, 
I believe I’m coming back with you. We shall 
have to light a fire, shan’t we, and forage? I 
want to have your sort of supper with you, for an 
experience.” My heart thrilled, and then I re- 
membered the state I’d left the room in. 

“Not to-night,” said I. 

“Why not?” said Mr. Richard. 

“I can’t possibly,” said I, and he couldn’t get 
anything else out of me. Finally he turned very 
cross, and said he shouldn’t have come, anyway, 
as he was dining out, and couldn’t possibly dis- 
appoint the people, and didn’t want to disappoint 
them either. Which was a great comfort, for 
after having given me such a perfect day, it seemed 
too brutal to refuse to have him to supper. I was 
so relieved at finding he hadn’t meant to come, I 
was scarcely disappointed when I got out of the 
taxi; and besides the least I could do to show my 
gratitude, was to smile, as he liked me to smile. 
To my surprise he only jumped in and slammed the 
door to, as if he were furious. He put his head out 
of the other side to give the driver his direction. 

I came upstairs feeling the insecurity again ; how 
I have offended him I can not think. 


CHAPTER V 


THE IMPERIAL ALLIANCE 
March 227 id, Monday. 

WJ^ are truly friends, after all. I am so 
’ ^ separated from Mr. Richard at the office, 
that it is difficult to think of him as a friend. We 
were both shy when we met; of course I had told 
Mr. Richard we must not be friends there, and 
that explained why he was off-hand. In a way, I 
was glad. But as the days went on, and he con- 
tinued to snap out instructions and bury his head 
in papers and refuse to look at me, I suddenly 
discovered he was being offended. In a way, this 
made me happy for it showed we were friends. But 
I could not say anything, while he was acting as 
my chief. 

It was a relief when he asked how long this was 
going to go on. I said I didn’t know but it was 
horrid; and he said the horridness was on one side 

entirely and he couldn’t have believed it of me. 

89 


90 On tHe Fi^Htin^ Line 

We had to have it out then, for we never see each 
other except at the office. I had offended him 
dreadfully by refusing to let him come to supper, 
and smiling when I said good-bye. He said it was 
a most cruel smile, as if I didn’t care a button 
what became of him. When I told him I was 
honestly glad he had somewhere else to go, he 
didn’t like it any better, at first. But he admitted 
it was only sensible to look at the matter in that 
way; and when I told him my room had been 
untidy that cheered him up. 

I never dreamed that coming to see me could be 
important to Mr. Richard. 

I would not stay and talk as he wished, for 
there had been scarcely any letters this morning 
and I knew what Miss Beckles and Miss Patten 
would think; and finally he said we must meet 
somewhere and suggested lunch. That could not 
be, however, for now Miss Patten’s admirer has 
vanished we have returned to our old arrangement, 
and share scrambled eggs as well as fruit and cream. 
It was not fair to upset her Itmch. He pressed 
the matter but I could not betray Miss Patten’s 
economies ; I don’t mind what he knows about me ; 
friends have the right to know everything about 
each other. I am glad I was firm ; this morning he 


XHe Imperial Alliance 91 

blurted out, “What an idiot I am. I’m coming to 
supper to-night, in the famous sky parlour.” 

Of course I said I should be delighted. He 
laughed like a schoolboy and said it would be 
topping, and he should bring the supper and I 
wasn’t to get a thing. He said he should cook 
whatever needed cooking in the pan which I’d 
told him of, and not let me do a thing. He was not 
going to be one of those pals who gave more 
trouble than they were worth. Half the time, I 
thought he was rotting, but before I went, he said 
again, “To-night then; about eight?” 

There is still half an hour; I wish there was 
something I could do but the room is perfect. I 
have been very extravagant, but flowers do im- 
prove things so, and the streets were full of 
daffodils. Their trumpets stretch out from the 
mantelpiece in a golden army, as if they are 
bugling in the spring, or offering welcome to the 
hero who is coming to join the picture ones: a 
young, untried hero, full of the strength and 
courage of the spring ; who is my friend. 

The fire will be just right in half an hour, the 
coals are smouldering in a pleasantly smoky, 
sulky way, on the point of breaking into flame; 
the green curtains are drawn across the window 


92 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

for it’s cosier that way, but later, we shall part 
them and look at London in the moonlight; my 
furniture is polished till it shines like glass and its 
cheapness doesn’t matter ; I have put my best tea- 
cloth on the table, and laid out my china which is 
mostly willow pattern, and old-fashioned, and just 
right for this quaint room; and I have candles 
instead of the mournful gas, so that my contriv- 
ances won’t be conspicuous. The brush and 
bucket won’t go under the bed, but they retire 
into a corner now discreetly. It is a dear little 
room, and I believe he’ll love it, I don’t see how 
anyone could help it; it deserves a friend. To 
think, of all people, that Mr. Richard should have 
been given me as a friend. 

Eight o’clock. 

Mr. Richard has sent a telegram — “Detained.” 
Does that mean he will be late, or isn’t coming? 
He might have put it more clearly. 

It’s eleven, so he can’t be coming. Finis! 
March 23rd, Tuesday. 

Mr. Richard had run up against an old friend 
whom he hadn’t seen for years, who insisted on 


TKe Imperial Alliance 93 

dining with him; and he couldn’t get away. He 
said he was frightfully angry, and had had the 
dullest evening he had ever spent; he asked when 
he could come again, but I felt he was trying to be 
nice to make up for disappointing me, and some- 
thing in me rose up. I don’t think he saw I 
minded. I hope not. When girls show they mind, 
it makes me sick. Of course, if I’d said he should 
never come now, he would have known; so I 
tried to look as if the idea was mildly pleasant, and 
said perhaps we could arrange a night next week, 
or the week after. I didn’t explain I was busy, or 
say anything about myself. I heard Miss Patten 
do that to her admirer when he hadn’t turned up 
for a week. When men really want to see you, 
they always turn up. I knew Mr. Richard didn’t 
want to see me very badly ; I knew he had millions 
of friends. It is a great disadvantage to have few 
friends. I’ll never lose an opportimity of making 
friends. But what opportimity ever will come my 
way? 

March 30th, Tuesday, 

It is something to be friends, even though it’s 
only at the office. Mr. Grainge’s scheme is still 
in the balance, and the philanthropic one isn’t 


94 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

going as it should. Every now and then we get a 
fillip, enough to make us think that things are 
moving, but they do not make quite enough of a 
move. We are a long way off the amount that 
Sir Mordaunt considers necessary before he will 
come in. He will not listen to prospects or prom- 
ises. People with money think that only money 
counts. Mr. Richard knows that Mr. Grainge 
ought to be trusted and given a free hand, even if 
it did seem perilous at first. He is absolutely 
confident of the ultimate success of the project, 
and it is naturally very annoying to see a brilliant 
man hindered and exasperated when Sir Mordaunt 
has the means to back the enterprise. 

I do what I can to cheer Mr. Richard. One must 
have patience. He told me to-day I helped him, 
but he hasn’t said anything again about coming 
to see me. He looks worried and as if he’s think- 
ing about something else ; I wish I could be of more 
use than I am. 

Some women take such a selfish view of men. 
It makes my blood boil to hear Miss Beckles on 
the subject. She has become interested in those 
terrible Suffragettes, and goes to their hateful 
meetings, and tells us things which make Miss 
Patten and myself want to throw things at her. 


THe Imperial Alliance 95 

She says the day will come when men will be as 
subjugated as we are now, and women will rule 
the world, for they are the higher type. When I 
think of what men have done, and compare it with 
the miserable inefficiency of women, I become as 
bad as a Suffragette, only the other way round. 
Miss Beckles says men are in a conspiracy to keep 
women inefficient; but who’s preventing Miss 
Beckles and Miss Patten from taking interest in 
the Alliance? Miss Patten knows she is typically 
womanly and weak, but Miss Beckles swaggers 
worse than ever, not because she is a fascinating 
woman now (oh, the delusion!) but because she is 
a woman. I told her to-day every man might 
strut about because he’s a man; she says he does; 
in a way that’s true. But then he is a man. 

It’s funny how much more intensely women 
think about things, and how much more things 
that count, men do. Men have a way of getting 
out and doing things as a matter of course. Mr. 
Grainge plays golf regularly, through all this 
crisis. And Mr. Richard is here, there, and every- 
where. To-day he asked if I would like to come to 
a footer match, which was jolly. I can’t think 
why I said no. I suppose I want to make myself 
appear important, too, which is very silly, because 


96 On tHe FigHting' l^ine 

I couldn’t keep it up if we ever did become friends 
enough to see much of one another. Then he 
would find my importance was only pretence, and 
would despise me. Why can’t I take what he 
naturally wants to give me, and be a fifth-rate 
friend contentedly? It would be more honest 
than this pretence of not caring particularly. 
But after that night, something seems dead. I 
know he doesn’t mean much, and I can’t be 
natural. Sometimes I wish we had never 
thought of being friends. Every day is dis- 
appointing now. 

I suppose it’s the general depression because the 
scheme isn’t going. 

April 1st, Thursday. 

Mr. Richard cares for me. 

This morning I was still on the outside of things 
with no greater interest than finishing my blouse, 
and no anticipation that things would ever be 
different. When I came out, the gentle freshness 
of the morning stirred me a little; there was no 
wind and the sunlight made the streets warm 
and balmy. The trees were pricking with green > 
the river was a sheet of sparkling crystals whose 
facets broke each moment so that the stream 


XHe Imperial Alliance 97 

danced as it ran — ^and smiles broke out on people’s 
faces as they hurried to their work. 

There are plenty of growing things in cities, 
but the cotmtry sends such urgent messages just 
now, that our performance seems nothing at all. 
Such messages they are, the tight packed baskets 
lined with moss and crammed with the bounty of 
the fields and hedges. Ludgate Hill was bright 
with primroses ! However men clutter the ground 
with bricks and buildings they can’t keep the 
flowers away. 

I saw the wet leaves and twiggy tangle where 
the primroses peeped through. I saw the innocent 
baby clouds floating over young green fields; and 
purling leaf -filled streams, busily clearing away the 
debris of the winter. Our wood was green to-day, 
and the stmlight was glistening on tiny leaves 
and flowers, pushing everywhere. 

The City had melted away for the moment, and 
even when I went into Mr. Richard’s room, the 
scent of the primroses was whispering, and every 
time I looked down on their soft paleness, I saw 
deep moss and heard water trickling — lap, lap — a 
steady murmur against pebbles, while high above 
the baby clouds stood at attention in the blue. 

I noticed vaguely that Mr. Richard was look- 


98 


On tHe FigHting' Line 


ing at me in his queer, furtive way, but to-day I 
didn’t trouble. 

I sniffed my primrose when he paused in the 
middle of a letter; but he stayed so long that I 
looked up. He was fingering a ruler, and staring 
at the blotting-paper. Suddenly he said, “Why 
are you looking like that?” 

“Like what?” said I. 

“As if you were in a happy trance,” said Mr. 
Richard. 

I thought his voice was scornfully angry; I felt 
myself beginning to blush. I would have died 
rather than tell him I had been thinking of our 
wood. My thoughts were no business of his. I 
bent my head lower and lower, but I knew he 
saw how red I had become. There was a most 
dreadful silence. 

I had to look up at last. He was holding the 
ruler in both hands as if he were trying to break 
it; suddenly he said: “You’re driving me mad. If 
it’s someone else, it’s only fair to tell me, after the 
way you’ve let me, ... let me ” 

The room went round and round; I couldn’t 
say a word. He tapped the desk with the ruler 
in a funny excited way and said: “We promised 
to be pals; I’ve the right to ask.” 


THe Imperial Alliance 99 

“Do you mean, am I thinking of something 
else? said I. How could I dare to think he meant 
— what it turned out he did mean ; oh, how we have 
misunderstood each other. 

“ Rot ! You’re not as innocent as that, ” said he. 

He told me afterwards he was beside himself. 
I couldn’t think of his feelings or behaviour or any- 
thing then, I only wanted him to look into my 
mind and see the truth. 

I didn’t care if he despised me. Anything was 
better than being accused of simpering and smiling 
because I had an admirer. I told him exactly 
what had been passing through my mind. He 
looked at me as if he had been released from a 
nightmare; for a minute I was thankful; then I 
began to blush again, the look in his eyes was more 
than friendly. But I wouldn’t bend down my 
head. He should see what I felt. I looked back; 
hard as it was, I wasn’t going to pretend. 

“And here I’ve been jealous and fretting and 
bothering night and day, and trying to leave you 
alone, or annoy you, and you’ve kept on doing your 
work and cheering me up, as if an idiot like myself 
couldnH hurt you; and now you come in looking 
like an angel and when I insult you with the rotten 
suspicions I’ve been torturing myself with, you 


100 


On tHe Fig'Htin^ Line 


have the decency to show me what’s in your heart. 
I’m not fit to look. Why are you always making 
me ashamed of myself? Look here. Are you 
going to forgive me?” 

I shall never forget a single word. 

I told him I had nothing to forgive; I looked 
back at him all the time. 

“Oh, come now, that’s worse than punishing 
me, ” said he. “ Look here, we must have this out. 
Where can we see each other; won’t you lunch 
somewhere? I know an awfully jolly place where 
we can talk.” 

I told him the truth why I could not come. 
Miss Patten is saving for an umbrella. She will 
have enough next week; I could not upset her 
plans till then. 

Mr. Richard laughed till I was afraid Mr. 
Grainge would hear. “I have been making an 
ass of myself,” said he. “You are such a brick. 
I know, I’ll let you off early, and we’ll scoot down 
to our wood; try and strike a better bargain this 
time, eh? One that won’t admit of any misunder- 
standings. ” 

He wouldn’t hear of anything but this idea. I 
was to meet him at the Mansion House at half- 
past four; then we were to taxi into Surrey. 


TKe Imperial Alliance loi 

I knew it was dangerous, but I cannot do right 
always. 

As I stood on the kerb waiting, who should tap 
me on the back but Miss Beckles; she also had 
got off early to attend a Suffragette bazaar. She 
stood there, persuading me to come with her. I 
waited every second for Mr. Richard to whizz 
up, without seeing her, but fortunately his taxi 
stopped a few yards off. There was no course but 
to lie to Miss Beckles. I told her I must run for a 
train, and then it turned out she intended to stay 
there and wait for her bus. I went past the taxi, 
round the comer, and Mr. Richard understood and 
picked me up. He was very annoyed. I don’t 
think she saw him, but she might have done, and 
the incident cast a shadow. Mr. Richard sat back 
as far as he could, and I felt nervous and strange; 
we did not talk. It is queer how we go in and out 
of being friends with one another. One minute, 
so close, closer to each other than to anyone else 
in the world ; the next, misunderstanding again. 

I felt Mr. Richard was repenting his imprudence, 
and my heart grew heavier until I wished devoutly 
that we had never come. I tried to think of some, 
way of getting out of the taxi and returning home 
and at last I said I had just remembered I had 


102 On tHe Fighting Line 

promised to be in this evening. This was true. I 
had told Jack Ford I would be at home and would 
take in a parcel he was expecting. 

‘‘You can’t back out like that,” said Mr. 
Richard. 

“Well, is there any sense in coming when we 
both know we oughtn’t to?” said I. 

Mr. Richard is a peculiar person. This made 
him good humoured again. 

“Why, that’s the whole point,” said he. “Be- 
sides, I don’t know we oughtn’t to; I’ve simply 
got to carry you off somewhere, or we shall never 
understand each other. Haven’t you ever wanted 
to get out of the shafts for a single minute?” He 
took my hand as he spoke, and gave it a comfort- 
ing squeeze as if he were taking care of me and I 
wasn’t to worry. I couldn’t help smiling back. 
Besides, it was such fim to be speeding away 
together and leaving the worries behind. We were 
passing gardens, and everything was springing 
and growing; it was natural to lean back and be 
happy. 

“Doesn’t the office seem far away?” said I. 

“You look so sweet when you’re tired,” said 
Mr. Richard. “A man has some sort of chance 
with you then. No, do stay as you were. I can 


TKe Imperial Alliance 103 

look at you more comfortably. I like you to look 
tired and gentle. Now, open your eyes at me, and 
smile.” 

I knew he cared, then. But there was still the 
insecurity. I wanted to pretend not to notice, and 
look at the scenery as usual; just pretend I was 
indifferent; something was telling me that would 
be safer. But I had determined to be true, and 
so I looked back, and we stayed looking at each 
other while the taxi rushed on and on as if we were 
in a dream. The sun was low when we reached 
the hotel; our room was filled with a bicycling 
party and the whole place overrun with hot young 
men in knickerbockers; neither of us wanted tea. 
We left the taxi and struck out for our wood. 

We had a discussion about the way to it, for 
everything looked different now the leaves were 
coming. Then we found the ploughed field was 
covered with young corn, and we could not tramp 
over it. We went on for some way, looking for a 
lane, but the road became an avenue of trees and 
went downhill in the opposite direction. We were 
both getting a little tired. At last we were in a 
hollow, where the trees met overhead and fields 
rose up on either side, and there was no glimpse 
of our wood. We leant over a gate, discussing the 


104 On tKe Fi^Htin^ Line 

best plan of getting there. Somewhere far away 
a cow was lowing mournfully, and now and then a 
bird cheeped. We were shut in, out of sight and 
mind of everyone we knew; and the light became 
fainter and fainter, the green of the grass faded 
into shadows, the trees pressed down on us; and 
the peep of sky was chrysophase and made the 
shadows heavier and more intimate. I wanted to 
stay there for ever. 

We stopped talking, and leant there, as if 
neither of us had power to move. I could hear 
Mr. Richard breathing in a fimny way, and I 
was half afraid, and yet at the same time, happy. 
I knew everything was different. When he sud- 
denly put out his hand, and touched my arm I 
knew. 

Everything is blurred when I think back, al- 
though I want to remember every minute. I 
knew Mr. Richard was going to kiss me, and I 
knew, with a great rush of relief, that we were safe 
here, and could do just as we liked; there was no 
chance of anyone knowing. 

Yes, the thing I remember was the feeling of 
safety at last, although when he took me in his 
arms, I was afraid. He is so different, how can he 
care for me? But he does. 


THe Imperial Alliance 105 

As he kissed me, I knew everything depended 
on him now, I couldn’t be happy in any other way 
than by being with him; and no other friends 
could ever coimt; it never had been anything but 
Mr. Richard from the first time I took down his 
letters. 

Even the Alliance wasn’t as important as being 
loved by Mr. Richard. Although I always loved 
the Alliance because it is the work of men of Mr. 
Richard’s stamp; real men: men who do things; 
men who are sportsmen, not who sit around and 
write and think and mope; men who have a sense 
of honour. He says what most attracted him to me, 
is the way I put the office first. He thinks it’s fine, 
that I can imderstand the bigness and importance 
of the work he’s doing. Most girls are absolutely 
uninterested and only want you to talk about their 
eyes and kiss them. But directly he began to 
know me he saw I wasn’t that sort. He saw it in 
my eyes. They are the truest eyes he has ever 
looked into; he says he has never known a girl 
look him square in the face like I do, without the 
ghost of an invitation. Several times he’s been 
so provoked, he has nearly kissed me. He almost 
did so in that lane at Kew, only he knew I should 
hate it then. And he nearly kissed me in our wood 


io6 On tHe FigHting' Line 

only the moment never seemed to come. But 
to-day he had made up his mind he would not be 
afraid of me. 

Directly we began to talk about the Alliance, 
he had become interested. It had been rather 
boring, shut up in the office all day long, when he 
had been used to outdoor life; I had been a human 
interest. He says he never looks ahead, but we can 
think back now, as much as we like. 

He says he has been pulled in two all along. 
After that day in the wood, he had taken himself 
in hand, but things had gone so badly, he abso- 
lutely had to talk things over with someone who 
understood and who could buck him up. I always 
buck him up. I have the knack of making a man 
feel he can do a full day’s work. Oh dear ! Just to 
think I have any influence with Mr. Richard. 

He was looking forward awfully to having supper 
in my sky parlour that night, but an old friend 
really did turn up, and it would have been fright- 
fully difficult to get away, and he thought there 
was a pretty certain chance of seeing me next 
evening. But then I put him off. Whenever he is 
feeling most sure of me, he says I slip away; one 
minute I am looking up as if I had never looked 
at anyone except him, and the next day I look at 


THe Imperial Alliance 107 

him as if he were a circular I knew by heart. And 
one minute he feels I would throw over everything 
I cared for, including my immortal soul, and go 
with him to the end of the world, and the next day 
I wouldn’t stop typing if I saw him drowning. 
Even when he is kissing me, he can’t be sure that 
I shan’t have repented by next morning and he 
will find himself in the cold again. 

I said, “what is there to repent of, if you really 
care?” 

But he says part of me is not like a girl at all, 
and he shall never be really happy till he feels I 
am all girl. It will be his mission to find out the 
girl in me, so that he will never get left again. At 
the same time, he loves me for being unlike any 
girl he has ever met. But he hates women to be 
unwomanly and he will have to kiss all the hardness 
in me away, and never be frightened. He has 
made up his mind not to be frightened now 
whatever I do. 

I don’t like it when he calls me hard. I asked 
him if he thought it unwomanly to show him how 
much I cared, and he said no. He loved the way 
I gave myself up like a good child. But I mustn’t 
think of anything except him. He likes me to be 
interested in the Alliance, because it’s his chief 


io8 On tHe FigKtin^ Line 

interest too, and it’s jolly to be able to talk things 
out together ; but he wants all of me. I said he had 
it all, and he said he. hoped so, but he still felt the 
coldness, though at the same time, it made me very 
fascinating, and he never would have lost his head 
as he has, if I hadn’t seemed so unattainable. 
I told him his unattainability had had the opposite 
effect on me, for there was no sense in wanting to 
be friends with someone whom you had no chance 
of knowing. It had never occurred to me to want 
to be friends with him till we met at Kew. At 
which he laughed and said he was not going to be 
put off by that sort of thing again. 

But I had not wanted to be friends with him at 
first. He was a hero, like Mr. Grainge. 

He said wonderful things coming home; I have 
the eyes of a baby and an angel and a sphinx 
mixed up together, and my mouth is as firm as the 
mouth of a statuette. 

It isn’t nice to be hard. 

I asked if he considered Miss Patten womanly; 
he said, of the most third-rate order. 

It is wonderful to be loved. It is a great re- 
sponsibility. Mr. Richard’s happiness depends on 
me. The worst of it is, I hurt him when I have no 
idea of doing such a thing. I still feel insecure. 


THe Imperial A.lliaiice 109 

He said he should come home to supper with me 
to-night, for we haven’t yet had a really cosy 
homey evening together; but as we were planning 
it, the taxi burred and stopped, and there we were 
on a coimtry road in the darkness. I couldn’t 
sit there with the chauffeur meddling about under 
the windows, though Mr. Richard doesn’t seem 
to mind who sees ; I said I was stiff and must have 
a stretch, and when we got out, I insisted on walk- 
ing up and down to keep warm, and watched what 
the man was doing. Mr. Richard was angry again, 
for it was more than an hour before the engine 
started. He sulked and I was miserable, but I did 
not feel I had been hard, and I wouldn’t say so. 

It was after eleven when we arrived at my 
Buildings and of course he couldn’t come in then. 
He said, “Oh, very well,” and slammed the door, 
and we parted in much the same way as when he 
had brought me home before. Only I didn’t smile 
this time ; I felt more like crying. I did cry a little, 
as I climbed those quiet stairs. 

When I had nearly reached the top, I heard 
someone thundering up. I knew who it was. He 
caught me, and we said we never would quarrel 
again. It would have been too awful to have met 
next morning at the office, without being able to 


-iio On tKe Fig'Kting Line 

make up, properly. He begged to come in and 
see my parlour, but it was too late. I felt weak 
and tired, and as if I must finish with all the kissing 
and misunderstanding for the moment. 

He is such a difficult person to understand. 

He is like a boy, the way he gets angry and 
makes it up, and is so sorry he has been unkind. 

I don’t know what the taxi cost him. 

I didn’t feel sleepy, after all, when I got into my 
little room, only glad to lock the door, and feel I 
can go over everything that has happened, quietly ; 
I want to take it all in. 

Mr. Richard loves me ; we are more than friends. 
I am his ideal as well as his friend. 

I ought to feel secure. 

But what would the people at the office say? 

I wonder if Miss Beckles saw. Well, I shall 
know to-morrow if she did. Oh, if she did ! 

April 2nd, Friday, 

Miss Beckles can’t have seen. I should have 
felt it in her manner. She was exactly the same 
this morning, if anything, a little softened by the 
success of her bazaar. 

I don’t know when I’ve been more relieved than 
when she came in and smiled as usual. 


TTKe Imperial Alliance iii 

I stood outside Mr. Richard’s door before I 
could muster courage to go in. I don’t know how 
long I should have stayed there if Mr. Grainge 
hadn’t come by. I don’t know what he thought 
I was standing there for. It was silly of me to be 
shy; Mr. Richard was exactly the same as he 
always is, if anything, more businesslike. As I sat 
there, taking down his letters, yesterday seemed 
a dream. 

I wasn’t hungry at lunch. Miss Patten rallied 
me and said I must be in love. I glanced at Miss 
Beckles, but she was looking through the door with 
the fixed air that always means an argument is 
coming, and very grateful I was when she started 
about the price per hour for shirt-making. 

She doesn’t look so bejewelled since she dropped 
her bangles in the collection plate at the Albert 
Hall. 

There is the making of a nice girl in Miss 
Beckles, though I wish she wouldn’t thump the 
table at us. People look round so. 

I thought Mr. Richard might possibly wait till 
everyone was gone, so I stayed behind, foolishly. 
I couldn’t help standing outside his door when 
I came down and listening. But there wasn’t a 
sound . Of course, he had gone when the others had. 


1 12 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

It seems so long till to-morrow. I shall be sure 
to see him then, as it's Saturday. When people 
care as we care, everything else will have to go, 
whatever engagements he has. 


CHAPTER VI 


‘‘minette” is discovered 
April srdy Saturday. 

All R. RICHARD left early this morning as he 
^ ^ is going away for the week end. He said 

it was an awful nuisance. Of course, he couldn’t 
put off a week-end engagement and disturb other 
people’s plans. 

I don’t know what I should have done this 
evening, if Jack Ford hadn’t come in. We met on 
the stairs this afternoon, and started an argument 
about the Suffragettes, and he brought me a copy 
of their hateful paper; it is funny for a man to be 
on their side, but of course Jack Ford is eccentric. 
I saw that at once. 

The way in which he spoke of them struck me 
as rather chivalrous, and I said so, for I do like 
being fair; but he said chivalry was a rotten 
institution, devised to keep women satisfied with 
injustice. 


1 14 On tHe FigHting Line 

To look at his unruffled, merry face, one could 
scarcely believe he could say such awful things. 
He never gets angry. He stood before the fire 
arguing away, and dismissing my contradictions 
as if they didn’t matter at all, until I began to 
laugh. Sometimes I can’t believe he’s serious. 
He is plainly an idealist in some ways, and yet he 
said the economic question was at the root of the 
false relations between men and women, and that 
married women ought to be paid salaries by their 
husbands. Also that the State ought to pay 
women for having children. The things he talks 
about are extraordinary for a man to mention 
to a girl. And yet he is so in earnest, and cherubic, 
and unruffled that I find myself arguing back. I 
do not feel nearly so small with him as I do 
with Mr. Richard; Mr. Richard is so master- 
ful; Jack Ford stands back and leaves one by 
oneself. 

He has invited me to supper to-morrow night to 
finish the argument, as he had to go out to-night. 
A suffragette is coming, and he says I can see what 
the species is like. It will help to get through 
Sunday, though I do not believe I should ever 
finish arguing with Jack Ford; our ideas are too 
different. 


“Minette** is Discovered 115 

April 4th, Sunday night. 

Well, I have met some curious people. 

They play at everything like children, as if life 
wasn’t .serious or real at all, but only as serious and 
real as they choose to make it. It has been like 
an evening in Alice in Wonderland. 

I heard tap after tap on Jack Ford’s door and 
people coming upstairs and then much talking and 
laughter, but I hadn’t been invited till seven so I 
didn’t like to go in. Though it was nervous work 
waiting and hearing the sounds of gathering 
throngs. It is the first party I’ve ever been to, 
and I did feel shy as I launched out from harbour 
and butted in amongst all those people. 

Jack Ford appears to live by firelight. It was 
perfectly alarming to come into his dark room and 
see a cluster of people huddled round the fire on 
the mat, like a gathering of brigands in a cave. 
When I was established on the sofa, I discovered, 
one by one, a long-nosed young man, sitting like 
an effigy on a stool, very deliberate and clever, a 
bright-eyed bird-like boy with long dark hair, and 
a dark young girl with brooding eyes who nursed 
her knees and rested her chin on them like a young 
witch. There was a sort of murmur of introduc- 


Ii6 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

tion; Jack Ford said, “This is my neighbour,’* 
and they looked at me, but no one got up. The 
long-nosed man, whom they called Simon, asked 
Jack Ford if a little pot on the mantelpiece wasn’t 
new, and Jack Ford said it was Bristol, and they 
all examined it enthusiastically, as if they were 
glad to have something to talk about. My ap- 
pearance quenched the friendly shouts that 
had been proceeding when I knocked. I sat on 
the end of the sofa, thoroughly out of it, and 
uncomfortable. 

Jack Ford then tried to bring me in by saying 
he had invited me to make Sarah’s acquaintance, 
as I wasn’t very sound on the woman question, 
and the young witch smiled faintly and said she 
didn’t know she was a shining example. 

I did feel silly. 

No one took any notice of Jack Ford’s remark, 
fortunately. Simon asked if anyone had been to 
Balfour Gardiner’s concert, and as the Bird Boy 
and Jack Ford had, they began to argue hotly on 
the merits, or rather, demerits of various pieces 
that had been played there. I had never heard a 
single name they mentioned, although they were 
apparently household words, and when they 
plimged into a discussion about Modernity in Art, 


“Minette** is Discovered 117 

I felt as if tons of milk cans were rattling round my 
head. How they shouted. 

What Balfour Gardiner had done, I could not 
make out; the concert had been given in aid of 
something, but there’s nothing peculiar in concerts 
being given in aid of things. Sarah knew all about 
it, too, and they yelled at one another as if they 
were discussing politics. 

The more the Bird Boy was contradicted, the 
more he rubbed his hands together, and now and 
then, smothered his face with them, like an excited 
cat washing her face. As if argument was the 
breath of life to him. The Long-nosed Man laid 
down the law with a precise gesture, from the 
wrist. The dark girl shook back her hair; one 
sleek black strand had a way of falling over her 
forehead; Jack Ford alone continued calm and 
genial as if he enjoyed what everyone said or 
thought, and didn’t mind what opinions they 
entertained. Though for that matter, they all 
were positive their own were right, except the Bird 
Boy, who seemed to project remarks into the conver- 
sation for the pleasure of hearing them contradicted. 
I would no more have dared say anything before 
such people than before Sir Mordaimt. Not that 
they expected me to say anything. 


Il8 On tHe FigHting Line 

I felt worse than ever when the door flew open 
and an apparition in a very new, light, springy 
costume stood there, the girl I had met in Jack 
Ford’s rooms before. 

A delighted stir passed through the company 
as if someone important had come. The men got 
up; she nodded to the Bird Boy, patted Jack Ford 
on the shoulder, smiled at the Long-nosed One, 
and kissed the young Witch, who hugged her 
violently. Then she glanced in my direction. 
I sat as stiff as a poker ; how could I have thought 
she would recognize me again? 

But, “Hullo!” said she in a delicious lilt, as if I 
were a suddenly-found old friend, and then she 
was smiling into my eyes and holding my hand, 
and taking me into the heart of things. 

“By-the-by, what is your name?” said this 
strange girl with smiling wonder in her voice and 
eyes; yes, wonder at discovering me again, and 
pleasure, and welcome, and absolute acceptance. 
Oh, she can make one feel in things! I did dislike 
telling her; Minnie is such a horrid name; but she 
took it and considered it and handed it back to 
me, a beautiful possession. “Oh, how right,” said 
she, “when I came in, the first thing I thought was : 
Now what is she like, sitting there all by herself; 


“Minette** is Discovered 119 

and now she is Minnie — of course she is Minnie — 
Minette! Minette; may I call you Minette?” 

“Minette is good,” said Simon. 

The Bird Boy rubbed his hands and smothered 
his face, and then suddenly put his hands behind 
his coat-tails and stood before the fire like a father 
of a family. Everyone was looking at me, as if 
they dared to look now, and had been secretly 
summing me up all the time. 

“Yes, do let us call you Minette,” said the 
dark girl, “I’m Sarah.” 

“Now don’t frighten her; you are alarming to 
well-brought-up people, and Minette is so well- 
brought-up, ” said the girl sitting down beside me. 
“Don’t mind their manners, they are affectionate 
when kindly treated. ” Her eyes caught the Long- 
nosed Man’s expression, she giggled ever so little, 
and the Bird Boy rocked with joy. 

Then, I knew they were all daring each other, 
as well as the world. They were exactly like happy 
children, showing off, and feeling they were doing 
it rather nicely. 

I began to feel safer. 

But I did want to know why she called me 
Minette. 

“ It occurred to me faintly, the first time I saw 


120 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

you/’ said Carol, as if the answer was of great 
importance, and she must take care to be accurate. 

couldn’t quite find the name then. But when 
I came in just now, and saw you perched up, away 
from things, and beeyutifully reserved and ele- 
gant, I knew you were a grey, strokable, elegant 
Minette.” 

Even then I didn’t see, till the Bird Boy ex- 
ploded with “Tabby!” 

“Tortoise-shell,” said Simon. “More aristo- 
cratic.” 

“Blue Persian,” said Jack Ford. 

“Oh no, she’s not at all fluffy; she’s slim and 
small, and a httle starved, or she couldn’t be 
Minette,” cried Carol. 

Then I woke up to the fact that they thought 
me like a strayed-in cat; just what I’d felt Hke. 

But now they were all petting me. 

They meant it nicely; but Minette is not so nice 
as Jasmine. 

We had bread and cheese and roasted peanuts 
and pear-drops and acid-drops for supper. Jack 
Ford sat on the rug and cut the bread, Sarah 
toasted some, and Peter and she toasted their 
cheese as well. We made coffee with milk, and 
drank it from cups without handles, and a mug. 


“ Minette ** is Discovered 


I2I 


and a tumbler. Since I had been there last, one 
cup had gone and two handles. 

I have never enjoyed a meal so much. 

After supper, when we were all very cosey and 
happy and at home with each other, we played a 
game which Carol had made up, called Travellers’ 
Tales. 

Each had to tell the story of his life in the form 
of a fairy story though every adventure must be 
true. 

Simon demurred at beginning, but finally said 
he was on a quest. He had to win a magic slip of 
laurel, guarded by Swollen Giants. He described 
the Giants in detail, and apparently everyone 
recognized them, and shrieked with delight. I 
couldn’t make much of his story, except the part 
where Jack Ford came in. He called him Mine 
Host and his rooms the Friendly Hostel. 

Sarah then shook back her strand of hair, and 
plunged straight into an exciting tale of being a 
soldier in an enchanted army who possessed a 
Princess Leader whom they would follow to the 
death. Sarah had a quest, too, and sometimes it 
seemed as if she would serve the Princess best by 
following the quest, and capturing a Kingdom to 
lay at the Princess’s feet. Sarah had come to the 


122 On tHe Fi^Kting Line 

Friendly Hostel on one of her excursions in search 
of her kingdom. She had seen him in the populace 
and had wondered how anyone could remain so 
kind in the midst of such a rotten state of things. 
But when she came to the Hostel, she found it was 
kept by a Good Fairy. 

Jack Ford said, ^‘Oh, rot,” but he smiled as if he 
were very pleased, and the Bird Boy rubbed his 
hands, and Carol said: “Look at his face, isn^t he 
indecent about himself?” At which Jack Ford 
said, “Appreciation was always welcome to every- 
one,” as if he were arguing. 

They are all very fond of Jack Ford. 

The Bird Boy made several false starts before his 
story began, correcting himself, and giggling until 
Carol said he should lose his turn. Then he pulled 
himself together and became very serious and said 
he was a Miller’s Third Son, set adrift in the world, 
with his patrimony, in search of a fortune. 

At the present moment, his fortune was not in 
sight. He had been struggling in a Morass which 
he still thought hid buried treasure (furious No, 
No’s from Jack Ford) anyhow, he couldn’t see 
which way he must go, and these visits to Mine 
Host were his only consolation, and the danger 
was that he should sit for ever tippling the intoxi- 


“ Minette ’* is Discovered 123 

eating beverages his host so liberally provided, 
such as the Wine of Enthusiasm, the Cordial of 
Argument, and the Nectar of Justice. The Bird 
Boy could scarcely speak for laughing, and by the 
way he doubled up and rocked when they all 
shouted, I saw that he was only ragging. Jack 
Ford looked pleased all the same, and said it was 
awfully well-put. 

Then it was Jack Ford’s turn, and we all 
expected something very special. But after rub- 
bing his head meditatively, he suddenly shook his 
head and said, ‘‘No, he had really nothing to say. 
Someone else, please.” Everyone bewailed and 
commanded and persuaded, but it was no use. He 
said he wasn’t in the mood. All he would say 
when everyone refused to play if he didn’t, was, 
that the Host of a Hostel couldn’t travel. 

And then everyone looked at me. 

“Come on, Minette,” said Carol. She was 
presiding in the big chair, lying back in it, with 
her sleepy mischievous eyes fixed on me. 

It was all so jolly, I wasn’t afraid of them, I felt 
they were fellow travellers, and we had come into a 
hostel, and we were sitting round the fire, resting, 
before we took up our packs and went out again 
into the dangerous world. 


124 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

I said I had been set adrift without even a 
patrimony, in a strange city, but with a magic 
thread. By following the thread I had come to a 
palace, where lived the wisest and greatest King 
that ever existed. He ruled over the City, and 
was surrounded by faithful Counsellors, and Loyal 
Knights, and at first there did not seem a possibil- 
ity of helping him. So for some time, therefore, I 
stayed on the steps of the palace, running errands 
for the humblest of the King’s servants; but 
always keeping hold of the Magic Thread. Here, 
Peter asked what colour it was, and I said scarlet. 
I’m sure I don’t know why, but it felt scarlet. 

Simon nodded impatiently as if he knew. 

Then one day I felt the thread tighten in my 
hand, and give a tiny pull, and it pulled and 
pulled until I stood in the presence of the King’s 
favourite Knight. There I heard I had the wonder- 
ful fortune to fetch and carry for the King. This 
was difficult work for the King was surrounded by 
disloyal subjects and ungrateful Counsellors, but 
all the more, because of this, he needed someone he 
could trust. I should never see the King, for the 
Knight received the messages, but I should know 
all the time I was serving him. Then I found the 
King was ruling the whole world, not only the City, 


“Minette” is Discovered 125 

and sometimes I was so overcome by the greatness 
of the task I nearly fell to the ground; but the 
thread always held me up. And one day the 
Knight said, “Well Done.” 

They all said, “ Go on,” when I stopped, as if I’d 
just reached the exciting part of the story. When 
I said it was the end, the Bird Boy said, “ But what 
about the Knight?” and Sarah said, “Surely the 
Knight told the King?” 

When I said “No,” Sarah said, “Now, who 
says women have the same chance of getting on as 
men?” and for the moment, I thought we were 
going to argue. But Carol broke through the 
conversation, as usual. “I knew she belonged to 
us,” said she in the ecstatic voice, as if, yes, as if 
she had discovered buried treasure, she had been 
looking for, for years. “ But oh, what can she be? 
Now anyone can tell that Sarah is an actress, 
who’s mad on Christabel, and whose people aren’t 
keen on her going on the stage; and anyone can 
tell Peter paints and has a little money and is re- 
covering from a bad attack of Post-Impressionism; 
and that Simon writes plays and has to battle with 
managers; and Jack is Jack our BelovM; but 
what, in the name of fortune, can Minette be? For 
pity’s sake, tell us.” 


126 On tKe FigHting' Line 

^‘No, let’s guess,” said Jack Ford. 

“Oh, but you know,” cried the Bird Boy. 

“I swear, I don’t. Minette is as secretive and 
mysterious as Minettes always are,” said Jack 
Ford. “ I know she goes out all day but I haven’t 
the least idea where. No one ever comes to see 
her, she never moves about her room, she retreats 
into silence and goes out into mystery. I should 
like to have the mystery cleared up, but I think 
we ought to guess, and she needn’t tell us unless 
somebody guesses right.” 

I couldn’t believe my ears. Jack Ford isn’t the 
sort of person you can imagine wondering about 
anything. But I longed to hear their guesses; it 
was only fair to tell them about myself, now Carol 
had told me about the others. 

Simon said he knew and refused to guess. 

The Bird Boy rubbed his face several times, and 
then advanced the theory that I was an attendant 
in a Lima tic Asylum. 

Sarah stared into the fire under her beetling 
brows as if she were dragging out the secret from 
the glowing coals, and finally said I looked like 
the sort of person who worked for Missions. Was 
it anything to do with a Settlement? 

Jack Ford had a fancy I went to an Art School. 


** Minette *’ is Discovered 127 

I couldn’t help saying “Why?” and he said my 
room had an artistic look. I suppose that’s the 
Burne-Jones Autotypes father was so keen on. 

But Carol only looked puzzled. 

“The only thing that occurs to me, it couldn’t 
be,” said she. “You couldn’t be in Self ridge’s, 
could you, Minette?” 

Everyone pealed with laughter and Carol’s 
eyes glinted in a subtle way. I was so glad I 
wasn’t at Selfridge’s. It was glorious to be able 
to be proud of the real thing. Their stories dressed 
up their real lives, but my real life was far more 
splendid than the story. 

“I’m in an office,” said I. “The head of it 
really does rule the world indirectly, at least, the 
most important part of it.” 

Simon nodded his head in his tired omniscient 
manner. Jack Ford pulled at his pipe and stared at 
me rather more gravely than usual, Sarah and the 
Bird Boy expressed surprise loudly, but Carol 
looked at me, a little like Jack Ford. As if I had 
let out something. 

My cheeks began to bum. Suddenly I re- 
membered what I had said about the Knight. 

But it turned out she wasn’t thinking of that. 

“Minette, you are an idealist,” said Carol, as 


128 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

if she were making a deep charge against me, 
pitifully. 

“It may sound like idealizing, but I haven’t 
given an idea of the splendidness of it all,” said 1. 
“They really are Kings and Knights, though they 
might seem City Men to you.” 

“What was the thread?” asked the Bird Boy 
getting up onto his knees, and I explained it was 
work or duty; duty would be the best way of 
putting it, because duty was the thread that bound 
the whole concern together, and the King held the 
end of the thread. 

The Bird Boy rubbed his face in a non-committal 
manner when I said this. Simon looked more 
graven-imagey than ever. Sarah asked if there 
was any more coffee, and everyone welcomed the 
suggestion. 

Carol had a new way of making it, and they 
gathered round the pot and somehow I was in the 
cold again. I couldn’t help feeling they had found 
something funny in my story which they didn’t 
altogether like. Presently Carol glanced round, 
and saw I was alone, and soon she left the coffee 
operations and settled into place beside me with a 
comforting smile. 

“We liked your story, Minette,” said she, “but 


“Minette” is Discovered 129 

we were rather awed by anyone being able to see a 
City office like that.” 

Her face glowed with gentleness and sweetness; 
she looked up at me almost timidly. She has a 
way of interlacing her fingers on which the great 
diamond ring shines so oddly, and resting her soft 
little chin on them, so that there may be a support 
for the important thoughts she's thinking! She 
has such a babyish mouth, and absurdly straight 
nose, and white, white hands, that it is ridiculous 
for her to be serious. Her eyes generally look as 
dewy and melting as ripe soft blackberries. Only 
there's the hint of a snap in them, a deep-down 
gleam; I don't think one could ever be sure she 
was not making fun, or would not see the funny 
side the next minute. 

The cloth of her suit was as soft and fine as 
velvet, the touch of lace at her throat was real, 
she had silk stockings and suede shoes to match 
her dress, and her skirt was cut up the centre this 
time ; it was difficult not to be shocked sometimes. 
Except that she is so pretty and so emphatically 
a law to herself. 

‘*What office are you in?'' said she in a purring 
way. “I want to know about you, Minette.'' 

There seemed no reason why I should not tell 


9 


130 On tKe Fig'Hting Line 

her and explain something of what we were doing. 
Her eyes never left mine. Then she said, “And 
how do you serve the King? What do you do, 
exactly?” I told her I took someone's letters 
who was very near the head. 

“And the Someone said ‘Well done,' '' said the 
girl, still studying me. I could not help growing 
red. Her eyes were searching so. 

“And you are very happy, but a little afraid,'' 
she continued; “don’t take any men too seriously. 
Always say to yourself, I am an idealist, even 
about The Alliance.” 

I wished I had not told her, as she spoke. 

But she patted my hand, as if to say it was all 
right. I believe she sees exactly what is passing 
in everybody’s mind. 

“Jack Ford will tell you if I don’t,” said she. 
“I should like to have heard more about this 
wonderful King, but perhaps it would not be 
fair. I am Carol Grainge. ” 

I had been talking all the time to Mr. Grainge’s 
daughter. What a mercy I had spoken of him the 
way I had. There can’t have been any harm in 
speaking of him like that. 

Naturally, she thinks I idealize things, for she 
is the sort of woman who looks on the City as a 


“Minette” is Discovered 131 

dull place where the money she spends comes 
from. One can see she has no conception of work 
or duty. 

At this moment, Sarah remembered that Carol 
had never told her story, but she said the game was 
over, and the Idle Rich never had stories. From 
the way she said it, I felt she was answering my 
opinion of her ; her eyes were hidden as if they were 
full of laughter. 

When we got up to go, she stood before Jack 
Ford with her eyes cast down, and I saw him 
looking at her very hard, with a frown, as if he 
knew there was something hidden in her eyes, and 
was a little uneasy. I was waiting to say good-bye, 
and I have still the picture of those two, him so 
straightforward and cheery and Carol expensive — 
and elusive. 

What a wonderfully interesting place the world 
would be if everyone was friendly with each other. 
I suppose classes were invented, so that everyone 
could feel superior to somebody. I loathe Aunt 
Minnie and Uncle Samuel because I feel superior. 
Also Miss Beckles and Miss Patten. I enjoy feel- 
ing superior to them. But to-night, one didn’t 
think about that sort of thing. Sarah was shabbier 
than me, but she flew at Carol and kissed her. 


132 On tHe FigKtin^ Line 

Simon and the Bird Boy are better dressed than 
Jack Ford but no one thinks about anyone’s 
clothes with them. 

They have made a charmed company where 
their own standards reign. The only thing is, 
that I certainly felt superior when Carol let me in 
and they became nice to me, because I knew they 
would have shuddered at Miss Patten and Miss 
Beckles. Except Jack Ford. I can’t imagine him 
shuddering at anyone. That is the big difference 
between him and Mr. Richard. 


CHAPTER VII 


JACK ford’s tea-party 

April 6th^ Tuesday. 

W E are resolutely behaving as if we were 
nothing to each other. The office stands 
as an ideal to both of us, and we can conquer 
ourselves for its sake. It is rather fine to have to 
fight against ourselves together; for of course we 
both know what we each are feeling. We see it 
in each other’s eyes; we hear it in each other’s 
voice; it doesn’t matter what Mr. Richard says, 
it is enough to hear him speak; he looks at me as 
httle as possible, but I know why. 

I was right in thinking Mr. Richard like a 
soldier. It was a shock the first day, and the next, 
and next, to be treated as usual, but I can rise to 
his courage. We are testing ourselves. When we 
have proved to ourselves that our feelings can be 
mastered, when we know that office hours find us 
at our posts, unflinchingly, then we can trust 
133 


134 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

ourselves to see as much as we like of each other, 
outside. Mr. Richard is right to be sternly busi- 
nesslike. I love him for it. I should not love him 
if I did not worship him for the true-as-steel 
Englishman that he is. 

And Saturday will soon be here. The week end 
is our own. 

April yth, Wednesday, 

I have seen Miss Beckles in a new light 
to-day. There is something noble about her. 
She asked if she might lunch with us on Mon- 
day, as the Suffragettes are having a Self- 
Denial week. Miss Beckles always spends a 
shilling on her lunch and goes to a horrid 
eating-house where there is a cheap “Ordin- 
ary.” A good dinner is so important to her that 
a roll and cup of cocoa is self-denial indeed. 
I had never talked properly to her before. Of 
course we argued the whole time; Miss Beckles 
has picked up so many facts at the countless 
meetings she attends that it is like arguing with a 
specialist and not fair. She has not impressed 
me, however, until to-day. The Teashop is always 
crowded and the waitresses are nearly run off 
their feet; to-day, our waitress spilt Miss Beckles’ s 


JacK Ford’s Tea-Party 


135 


cup of cocoa as she put it down, and half slopped 
over. The girl looked in a bad temper, and of 
course the fault was hers. She herself expected to 
be sent back for more. But to my amazement. 
Miss Beckles said it didn’t matter, and did not 
even ask for her soaked roll to be exchanged. It 
was not because she was not hungry; it is painful 
to see her eat up every crumb. We both told her 
she could demand a fresh portion, but she shook 
her head and said the waitress would have to pay, 
and when girls are as under paid and hard worked 
as that, you can’t expect perfection. The least 
we under-dogs could do, was to stick by one 
another. When the girl made out our bill, I heard 
her tell Miss Beckles she was sorry about the 
cocoa, and Miss Beckles said, “Fourteen hours, 
eh?” and the girl said, “Yes, and fines,” and Miss 
Beckles nodded as if she knew all about it. It 
gave me an eerie feeling as if they belonged to a 
secret society. 

When we came away. Miss Beckles told us of 
the terrible state of things behind the scenes. 
One can see the girls look ill and cross and worried, 
but I never guessed they worked for eight and 
nine shillings a week, with fines. 

Grown-up women being fined ! 


136 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

As if people could expect anyone to work with- 
out mistakes sometimes. 

April 8th, Thursday, 

Sir Mordaunt is back; he walked into the 
office to-day, his first visit since Mr. Richard 
came. 

Sir Mordaunt was in Mr. Grainge’s room when 
I went in to Mr. Richard; Mr. Richard looked so 
worried I could not help giving him a little glance. 
But he did not take any notice. It is dreadful not 
to be able to speak to him and comfort him and 
help him. 

Oh, how I long for the week end to come. 

Just before I went, Sir Mordaunt came out and 
spoke to Mr. Richard while I sat like a dummy. 
It was strange to be taken no notice of, when I 
mean so much to Mr. Richard. I shall have to 
overcome my fear of people like him and Mr. 
Grainge, for some day I shall know them as Mr. 
Richard does. In my heart, I know they will not 
expect me to go on working at the office. Mr. 
Richard has chosen me to share his home, and I 
shall have to help his work indirectly. It will be a 
wrench to leave the office. But women in Mr. 
Richard’s class don’t work with men ; the men work 


JacK Ford’s Tea-Party 


137 


for them. How strange it will be to be worked for 
by Mr. Richard, almost impossibly presumptuous. 
I shall always feel it is my place to work for him. 

Oh how much we have to say to each other! 
He will surely speak to-morrow. 

April Qthy Friday, 

He hasn’t said anything to-day. I felt like a 
soldier under fire when I got up, directly he had 
finished, and marched straight out of the room. 
But he is my superior officer. I must wait till he 
gives the signal. After all, the week is not ended, 
the business week. There’s no point in speaking 
till to-morrow morning. 

My sky parlour is swept and garnished ready. 
If he wants to come to-morrow, I shan’t have to 
put him off. 

Oh my love, my love, our week end is so near. 
April loih, Saturday, 

We haven’t arranged anything; weVe been kept 
from speaking to each other. I knew it was a 
mistake to leave it so late. 

Oh I can’t believe our chance of speaking to each 
other has gone. This morning has been like a 
nightmare. 


138 On tHe FigHting Line 

It was stupid of him not to arrange at once, 
directly I came in, while we had the chance. We 
have a perfect right to make an appointment to 
meet each other outside the office, in our free time. 
I couldn’t believe it when he looked down on his 
desk, at the end of the letters. I couldn’t help 
lingering. What an idiot I was not to speak. But 
it was so difficult when Mr. Richard was pretend- 
ing to write; it wasn’t fair of him; he knew I was 
waiting. Oh, if I only had had the courage to 
speak out, instead of arranging my pen, and 
looking through my notebook. I felt if I waited, 
Mr. Richard would have to say something. 

The silence was awful. 

Just when one of us would have had to say 
something, Mr. Benson came in, and I had to go. 

It seemed as if the morning would never, never 
end. 

I could have screamed when Miss Beckles and 
Miss Patten started bickering at one o’clock, in- 
stead of clearing out as they always do. I stayed 
there, cleaning my typewriter. To-day of all 
days Miss Patten was meeting someone to go to a 
matinee, and Miss Beckles was endeavouring to 
persuade her to come to Peckham or Clapham or 
somewhere instead. 


JacK Ford’s Tea-Party 139 

Then the door opened, and Mr. Richard looked 
in. 

How could he say anything before them? But 
he might have had the sense to tell me he wanted 
me downstairs, instead of colouring and drawing 
back. 

I couldn’t jump up and run after him. 

It was splendidly brave of him to have come 
like that; the girls always go at one. I’ve never 
known them stay before. 

I knew they would suspect if I stayed in- 
definitely, so I waited another five minutes, then 
shut up my typewriter and went out in a composed 
way. Then I bolted downstairs to Mr. Richard’s 
room ; he had come to me, it was only fair I should 
go to him. 

No one was there. 

I stood like a dummy in the emptiness. 

I have never felt the City so large as I did when 
I came out of the office. There was no hope of 
finding him. The office had tossed us all into 
space and closed up, and for two whole days we 
are left to gyrate alone in darkness. Oh, how 
long it seems till Monday. I can’t bear it. I can’t 
bear it. 


140 On tHe Fi^Ktin^ Line 

Jack Ford has just been in. His piano has come 
and he is having a party. If I go there, I shall get 
through the afternoon. I cannot sit here waiting, 
waiting. 

Evening. 

I am glad to have something else to think about. 
I mustn’t give in. I must battle with the pain. 
I do feel better. 

Jack Ford fetched me to help him move the piano : 
it was such a comfort to have something to push at. 
I noticed his books for the first time stowed away 
on shelves beneath the beams. He volunteered the 
information that he wrote. He calls it scribbling, 
and says he’s going to have a book out soon. 

He had lots of cakes for tea, and is evidently 
comfortably off. He asked me to cut the bread 
and butter while he saw to the kettle. So he sat 
on the rug and gave himself up to arguing. He 
often reminds me of father. I suppose it’s natural 
for people who write to think talking is the 
principal aim of life. 

I told him one of the girls at the Alliance was a 
Suffragette ; but I wasn’t converted by any means. 
Still I had seen women could stick together, which 
I had never thought possible. 


JacK Ford’s Tea-Party 141 

Jack Ford answered that most business women 
were thinking the only true friends a woman could 
have were men, and this was an inevitable reaction 
from the fear of everything in trousess but just as 
much oversexed. 

The words he uses make one go rather hot some- 
times; one wishes he respected women a little 
more; I do like men to be chivalrous. For all his 
daringness, Mr. Richard always remembers one is 
a woman and certain subjects would always be 
sacred to him. But Jack Ford says everything 
straight out, without the least consideration. I 
suppose it is a question of refinement and manli- 
ness. Manly men are always reverent to women. 

I was not surprised to hear Sarah is a Militant ; 
she looks a Joan-of-Arc-y person. It doesn’t spoil 
her, somehow. That dark fateful look suggests 
the French Revolution and Nihilism and all that 
sort of thing; some women can be rebels pictur- 
esquely, and, I was not surprised to hear that 
Carol was not a Suffragette ! she is far too feminine. 
She might be audacious but she would never be 
unsexed. I can’t imagine her being desperately 
in earnest, either. 

Jack Ford summed her up as ‘‘disliking dis- 
comfort,” but I said that wasn’t the reason why 


142 On tKe FigHtin^ Line 

we objected to all this shrieking and scratching; 
we were defending something that couldn’t be 
put into words, and however a few abnormal 
women might clamour, women as a whole would 
never give up their instinct about woman’s 
dignity. 

He asked if I seriously considered women were 
treated in a dignified way to-day, and I said, ^‘By 
true men, yes.” He asked if I thought their 
wages were decided by true men, and I had to say 
No. But true men give women everything and 
work for them. Jack Ford said as the percentage 
of true men was decreasing yearly, ought not 
women to be protected from the men who were 
frankly out to sweat them? Practically, the entire 
commercial world! 

I could see there was something in this point of 
view, but I don’t see that having votes will affect 
the matter, and the cases Jack Ford cited of the 
Agricultural Labourers and Trades Unionists do 
not convince me. All classes of women have the 
same interest in their womanhood, and it seems to 
me that this is at stake. If we were on an equal 
footing with men, why should they give us any- 
thing? Where will the old ideals of chivalry come 
in? Where will be the refining influence women 


JacK Ford’s Xea-Party 


143 


have always had on men, their strength made 
perfect in our weakness? 

It is for the men’s sake we are battling, as well 
as our own. 

Jack Ford said I was quoting from the Militants 
now, and that I had said battling was unwomanly. 
But he knew I meant gentle though unflinching 
resistance to these hardening new ideas. I do be- 
lieve in men and women working together, but 
men must always remember they are men, and 
we must always remember we are women, and we 
always do. 

Jack Ford is shut up in a room all day; men like 
him and father aren’t as manly as the men who 
have to carve their way out in the jostle of the 
world. 

I asked him if he honestly felt Carol would be 
improved if she lost her femininity; he said the 
male in him wanted her to stay that way, but he 
knew that feeling was the devil. Carol was the 
product of a diseased civilization; all people who 
lived on capital or other people’s earnings were 
parasites, and parasites were morally incapable of 
facing issues. 

He said it didn’t matter what people contributed 
to the service of the world: they must do some- 


144 


On tHe FigHting Line 


thing. I said Carol contributed charm, and was 
of far more value and refreshment than a picture. 
And again Jack Ford said the male in him quite 
agreed with me, but logically he knew that such 
charm was the bottomless pit from which nothing 
hale or wholesome grew. 

Somehow I didn’t like it when he talked about 
the “male in him”; there was something horrid 
and coarse and brutal in the way he said it. There 
are some things we ought not to speak about, or 
think of, even to ourselves. 

I am sure Mr. Richard never thinks such things ; 
gentlemen don’t. But Jack Ford is the sort of 
man who ought to be friends with women, because 
he can be, and I don’t like the way he speaks of 
Carol. It is weak of him to be attracted by her 
against his will, and I hate weakness. But al- 
though I never know what he is going to say, and 
sometimes the conversation is very uncomfortable, 
being with him is absorbingly interesting. 

I was sorry when the Bird Boy and a new friend 
appeared, called Stephen; he has a cold face, with 
very distinct features, a shock of pale red hair, 
and a proud, sneering look. He speaks in a refined 
voice, and evidently feels his words are precious. 

He patted Jack Ford’s shoulder in a superior 


JacK Ford's Tea-Party 


145 


way and bowed superficially to me. The Bird Boy 
wrung me by the hand like an old friend, and stood 
on the rug with his hands behind his coat-tails, 
looking first on one side, then on the other, and 
suddenly smothered his face with one hand for a 
moment as if he were awfully happy to be there. 

They both viewed the piano with interest and 
Stephen asked if he might try it. 

One knew instinctively he would do everything 
very well. His fingers struck each note clearly and 
precisely, never missing nor slurring one of the 
many rippling notes and making the time in the 
bass sound out like an organ. 

Then he twisted off the chair like a child getting 
up and said the piano was quite good. 

The Bird Boy was then asked to try it and 
ambled towards it, rather shyly. 

When he touched the keys they soimded like 
velvet. 

I like being with men. They are such workers. 
When tea was made the three of them plunged 
into discussion about pictures. Stephen is an 
artist, too. It was a revelation to see the import- 
tance they attached to whether pictures were right 
or wrong. The great thing that matters is to be 
sincere and in the movement. From the way they 


10 


146 On tHe FigHting Line 

spoke, they are evidently all in the very front 
of the movement and are having a very hard time 
in consequence. But they say the old ideals are 
crashing and ripping in every direction. I can see 
they feel just as great as Mr. Grainge and Mr. 
Richard do. The Imperial Alliance is making the 
nation powerful and the men who are in it are 
Empire Builders; and this Artists’ AlHance that 
the Bird Boy and Stephen belong to is going to 
revolutionize Art, extinguish the Academy, and 
every other exhibition of to-day except their own, 
and be the cosmic expression of Superman. 

As Miss Patten would say, “dear, dear.” 

All the same, it’s inspiriting to be with people 
who believe so earnestly in what they’re doing, 
and their power to do it, and can keep jolly as 
well. 

We had finished tea when Sarah came in; I was 
more struck than ever by her brooding air. Her 
smile was scarcely enough to come to the surface ; 
her expression changed the least little bit, to show 
that she remembered me, and that was all. I 
heard Jack Ford murmur something, and she said 
“Hunger strike.” 

Stephen asked if she had seen “the Holmes,” 
which turns out to be the name of an artist; they 


JacK Ford’s Tea-Party 


147 


always speak of pictures as “the Johns” “the 
Orpens, ” as if they were the painter’s offspring; 
it’s so bewildering, especially when one has never 
heard of the artist’s name. 

Sarah answers as if she knows what they are 
talking about, but is just keeping time, and is soon 
going to let go her hold on all this sort of thing, 
and it has ceased to be important. There is a 
wonderful calm about her, as if her soul is dead to 
the things of this world, and only her lips move 
from habit and she sees us all as moving pictures 
with which she has no relation. It is depressing. 
How can one be interested in life if the person you 
are talking to, feels it does not matter. Jack Ford 
makes one feel splendidly alive ; Stephen makes one 
feel the only reason for life is to do things well; 
but people who have let go of every interest but 
the One Purpose make me feel they are in a 
nightmare, and I want to scream and wake 
them up. 

Sarah looked as if the fate of the universe de- 
pended on what she was going to do and the 
shadow from her, spread into the room, till we 
were all keeping time like people in a dream. 

Suddenly the Bird Boy groaned out loud, I am 
sure, unconsciously; and Jack Ford jumped up and 


148 


On tHe Fig'Hting Line 


asked someone to play for him. We had all for- 
gotten the piano. 

He sings magnificently; I couldn’t believe my 
ears when the glorious notes came, deep and mel- 
low, and then with an eerie high note of piercing 
sweetness, like a boy’s. 

He sang a slow thing, “ When I am Laid in Earth,'' 
which suited the atmosphere, somehow; and I 
stared at Sarah sitting with her chin on her hands, 
gazing, gazing into the coals, unshakably; and it 
was like looking at someone who had been con- 
demned and whom nothing could save. There was 
endurance in her face, but no peace; a grate of 
ashes is not peaceful. 

Jack Ford sang several songs; everyone was 
wistful and yearning, and about loving in vain, or 
loving and losing, or the memory of love. He has 
very deep feelings. 

The shadows melted into darkness, and the 
room grew still ; it was a wonderful hour. 

Suddenly Stephen asked Jack Ford to sing some- 
thing decent. All this slosh was getting on his 
nerves. Sarah said, “What a shame! Poor Bleed- 
ing Heart!’’ That turns out to be Jack Ford’s 
nickname ! 

He is good-humoured ; he laughed. 


JacK Ford's Tea-Party 


149 


What do these people take seriously? 

Never their feelings. 

Even Sarah laughed at his yearning. 

I can’t make them out. 

Well, well, the afternoon has gone. That’s one 
comfort. 

Gone, gone, the afternoon has gone, and all the 
time he has been waiting. 

'' Dearest, 

I think we deserve a holiday, don’t you? Hyde 
Park Corner, please, and come in a chariot and 
wait if I’m not there; four sharp. I shan’t be more 
than a few minutes late, if that. Then — I’ll tell 
you all about it. Oh Jasmine, our wood — to-night. 
— R.” 

The fool of a boy had pushed it under the door, 
and it had stuck in the carpet. It was a miracle 
I saw it sticking out. Fool, fool, he must 
have heard us next door; why didn’t he knock 
there? 

It is ten o’clock, I can’t do anything to-night. 

What will he think? Oh, if he’s been waiting! 

And I might have been with him now — 


now 


150 On tHe FigHting Line 

Sunday. 

We are in London together and we might as well 
be at the opposite ends of the world. 

I have been waiting for him to come all day ; he 
must know I was prevented by an accident; he 
must want to know why I didn’t come. 

He can’t be angry, before he has heard my 
reason. 

He knows he can come to me. I can’t go to 
him. 

I have tried to telephone, but the first time he 
wasn’t down, and the second time Sir Mordaunt 
answered. I dropped the receiver as if it were red- 
hot ; fortunately I hadn’t spoken. If he had heard 
my voice! 

I can’t get to him. 

I hadn’t realized before how far away I am. 
What will his people say? What will Sir Mordaunt 
say? 

I daren’t think of it. 

I feel as if his people stand round him, and 
guard him; they are driving me from the door. 
And he is locked up in a thousand interests, sur- 
rounded by a thousand friends; and I am a feeble, 
cheap little clerk trying to get in where I don’t 


JacK Ford’s Tea-Party 151 

belong. It is only three o’clock now. Eighteen 
hours before I see him. 

Someone knocked. Jack Ford, to ask if I felt 
like a walk; I didn’t even make the excuse of a 
headache. I just said “No,” and shut the door. 
Seventeen hours still. 

He may come yet. He mayn’t have been able 
to get off before. 


CHAPTER VIII 


MR. RICHARD MAKES FRIENDS 

April 1 2th, Monday night, 

nightmare is over. I am forgiven. 

I am glad it happened just the way it did, 
for through the misery we have found out how 
much we mean to one another. 

Oh what a comfort it is that I have this little 
room where we can see each other. 

When I got to the office, I found the work had 
been rearranged; Mr. Benson is to work with Mr. 
Richard, Miss Patten is to take their letters, and 
I am to work for Mr. Grainge. How strange it is 
that once I should have been wild with joy at this, 
and now 

I didn’t see Mr. Richard all the morning. 

In the lunch hour I wrote to him, typed 
his name, marked it “personal,” and sent it, 
express. 

I didn’t see him all the afternoon. 

152 


Mr. RicHard MaKes Friends 153 

But I knew we could never explain at the office; 
it would have been no use if I had seen him there. 

I tried to put him out of my head; I decided I 
would go on with the day’s work exactly as if 
there were no chance of ever seeing him again. I 
stopped at Mr. Jones’s on my way up and bought 
some fruit. I joined in the conversation he was 
having with a working- woman ; we discussed the 
terrible doings of the Suffragettes ; I pointed out to 
Mr. Jones that no true woman ever demanded 
anything, even justice; I heard of the woman’s 
wretched wages and Mr. Jones’s sympathy, and 
their championship of burning houses and pillag- 
ing post-offices, and liked them for their tolerance 
though I didn’t agree; and then I went up to my 
room, and tried to eat my supper. 

When he knocked, I had honestly given up 
expecting him. 

Oh, I was happy. I was beginning to think he 
had repented. But he was here with me; he had 
come; it was so lovely to see him look round my 
little room, rather shyly, at first, until he saw my 
Line upon the mantelshelf, and laughed. 

‘‘Dear me,” said he, “you are a millingtary 
small person. I’m going to be very jealous.” 

He sat in my armchair, where I have so often 


154 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

pictured him, and I sat on the tin box where I 
could look at him; it was glorious to see him pull- 
ing at his pipe as if he were at home. He was 
amused at my admiration for fighting-men, and 
said he was thinking of joining the Territorials; 
and should have to come and see me in his uniform. 
He said it was ripping of me to feel as I did about 
duty; he had been fighting with himself like the 
devil all the week, but the sight of my little pale 
face on Saturday finished him. Then, when he 
couldn’t get at me, and when I didn’t turn up, 
and he was left to kick his heels, not knowing 
what to do, he had decided he must chuck the 
whole thing. 'He simply could not stand it. 
When Grainge suggested the new arrangement he 
felt it was a clear get-out. But then my letter 
came, and it was so sweet and so dashed plucky, 
that he said to himself, “Well, here’s a girl in a 
million, who knows what she’s about, and won’t 
stand any nonsense. She cares for you ; she knows 
you care for her; the mischief’s done; you’re a 
sensitive idiot.” I said whatever happened, we 
must not be sensitive, but speak the truth straight 
out to each other. I couldn’t stand silence and 
misunderstanding. If we cared for each other, 
we must trust each other, and be able to get at 


Mr. RicHard MaKes Friends 155 

each other, and never, never feel we were separated 
by anything. 

He asked if I quite understood what I was say- 
ing, and I said yes, I knew, in the end, it would 
mean me leaving the Alliance. But he was worth 
it. 

He looked into the fire without speaking, as if 
he knew what this would mean to me. 

I went on and told him I was ready to face what 
Sir Mordaunt and Mr. Grainge would feel about 
the matter, and his people. But we must shut 
them out. He nodded. But he said if we were 
•sensible, there needn’t be a row. I said, of coiu*se, 
but one must face the risk. 

Then he said he hated facing things, and it was 
ripping of me to look at the position squarely, 
only it made him feel a cad. He didn’t feel he was 
worthy of me. 

I said I didn’t feel worthy of him, so we were 
quits. 

And then he said we were taking the whole 
thing a bit seriously, weren’t we, and we might get 
frightfully tired of each other, and there was no 
sense in being serious till we’d got something to be 
serious about. Would I kindly smile, instanter? 

Then he asked how I’d got on with Mr. Grainge, 


156 On tKe Line 

and I told him I’d scarcely taken in a word of 
anything he’d said to me, and Mr. Richard was 
awfully pleased, for when he’d heard I was going 
to work for Grainge, he had been frightfully 
jealous. I told him I should enjoy it now; it was 
only being shut off from him that had made me 
lose interest in everything. I asked if he had 
missed me, and he said, “Confoundedly.” 

He said he didn’t know how he had kept up not 
speaking to me all the week; he couldn’t have done 
it if I hadn’t been so fiintlike. But when he saw me 
sitting there like a composed little saint, it was up 
to him to show me two could play at that game. 
When I caved in, he was beaten. 

Then he said he hadn’t been forgiven yet. 

I said I had forgiven everything I could forgive 
him for, but he sat looking at me, and I came to 
him. I want nothing more than to obey him. 

We don’t have to talk to one another. 

But surely, surely, he knows I belong to him? 

Just as I felt perfectly, perfectly happy. Jack 
Ford’s piano started; it was lovely sitting there 
in the candle-light, listening; but instead of enjoy- 
ing it, Mr. Richard sat up, roughly. I was so 
surprised I didn’t understand. Even when he 
said, “What’s that?” I didn’t understand. 


Mr. RicHard MaKes Friends 157 

I went back to the tin box because he didn’t 
seem to want me any longer. I wasn’t flurried 
at anything but Mr. Richard’s manner. He does 
misunderstand so. 

One can’t help being friends with the person one 
lives next door to. When he said no decent man 
would ask a girl to his rooms, my heart stopped 
beating. It was such a wicked thing to attack 
Jack Ford. I defended our right to be friends. 
It doesn’t matter that we are only acquaintances; 
after his kindnesses, I couldn’t let anyone accuse 
and suspect him. 

Mr. Richard said a man who sang like that, 
couldn’t be friends with a woman. I told him how 
we all laughed at him and called him Bleeding 
Heart, and that Jack Ford laughed too. I told 
him about Sarah and what a friend she was, and 
Mr. Richard said that Suffragettes had no morals. 
Then I had to defend Sarah. 

I told him that Jack Ford and his friends were 
like children, in the way they treated one another, 
and Mr. Richard said I had evidently got into a 
rotten Bohemian set, and for my own sake, I must 
pull up. I had been so taken up with defending 
them, that I had not told him the final proof that 
they weren’t that sort of set at all. It was glorious 


158 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

to be able to tell him I had made friends with 
Carol Grainge and she went to Jack Ford’s rooms 
alone as much as I did. 

For a moment, I could not make out what was 
happening. Mr. Richard went white, or rather, 
grey. He was surprised. 

Carol? You know Miss Grainge?” said he. 

“She calls me Minette, ” said I. “They all do; 
they think me like a strayed-in kitten.” They 
really thought me like a cat, but I wanted Mr. 
Richard to think they saw me nicely. 

But “kitten” gave a wrong impression. 

Mr. Richard got up and leaned against the 
mantelpiece, looking down on me in an angry, not 
very nice way. 

“So you’re their kitten, are you?” said he. 
“Well, I’m always going wrong about women. I 
took Carol Grainge to be a well-bred girl. And I 
took you for a little nun. I’m beginning to 
find out women are all alike, and it’s a painful 
lesson.” 

“I can’t see that there is any more harm in 
Carol Grainge going to see Jack Ford than you 
coming to see me,” said I. “If people could look 
inside our rooms, they would say there was more 
harm in you coming here ; I am absolutely certain 


Mr. RicHard MaKes Friends 159 

Jack Ford doesn’t — doesn’t — kiss Carol Grainge.” 
It was hard even to say it; like insulting them. 

“How do you know?” said Mr. Richard with 
a laugh. 

“Because Jack Ford isn’t that sort,” said I. 
“He’s the sort of .man who is truly friends with 
women.” 

“And I’m not, eh?” said Mr. Richard, looking 
as if he could murder someone. 

“You’re the sort of man that cares for people, 
and that people care for, ” said I, and began to cry 
like a silly. 

Mr. Richard knelt down, then, and said he was 
a brute, and we made it up. 

But he wasn’t quite happy, and I wasn’t, either; 
for in my heart I know he would hate the way in 
which Jack Ford speaks of certain things and 
would think it wrong for me to hear such words; 
and Carol and Jack Ford are not exactly friends. 
Yet Mr. Richard could not understand the good 
side of them, if I told the truth. 

Mr. Richard began again presently, saying he 
was not completely sure of me. If I really loved 
him, I would give him my word not to go to Jack 
Ford’s rooms or let him come to mine. I asked 
him if he would think me reasonable if I asked him 


i6o On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

not to see any of his friends, but he said my case 
was different. I was a girl, and as I hadn’t the 
sense to protect myself, he should have to do it for 
me. It was his place to protect me now. I must 
think of my reputation. What would Jack Ford’s 
friends think if they found me there. 

I couldn’t help laughing; it was so silly. When 
I thought of Jack Ford, Sarah, and the Bird Boy 
being shocked, I realized what much kinder people 
they were, than those Mr. Richard had been used 
to. But I knew it would be unwise to try and 
explain to Mr. Richard, how nice they were and 
how a girl could go to the end of the world with 
Jack Ford or his friends. The way that Mr. 
Richard had talked about Jack Ford showed Mr. 
Richard doesn’t understand what a man can be. 
But if I’d told him that, he would, of course, only 
have been more jealous. 

So I said it was a question of my independence, 
and he said that was the trouble. But I stuck to it, 
that I would not cut myself off from the only 
friends I had, and pointed out how nice it was for 
me to be beginning to know his friends, and that 
being friends with Carol Grainge made me feel 
so much nearer him, socially. I told him how awful 
I had felt when I had telephoned to his house. He 


Mr. RicHard MaKes Friends i6i 

was annoyed to hear I had done such a thing. He 
made me promise I would never write or telephone 
to him at his home again. His father was like a 
lynx. 

I was ready to promise that. As long as he 
is living in his father’s house, his father has to 
be thought about. Just as we have to respect 
authority at the office. 

He kissed me again at this, and said I made him 
feel a worm. I can’t understand why thinking me 
good should make him repent loving me. Surely 
he ought to be glad when he sees I want to do 
right? How could he care for me if I didn’t try 
my best to be straight? I love him because he is 
my ideal of what a man should be, and when he 
talks of the great things he is going to do, and 
how the office must come before everything, and 
a man must put his country before personal in- 
terests, I thrill with pride in him, and am proud 
I love a man Hke that. 

But when he admires me for doing right, it 
seems to make him wretched. 

When I asked him, he only smoothed my eye- 
brows and said I mustn’t frown. 

“Don’t let’s worry about anything,” said he. 
“Birds in their little nests agree. This shall be 


II 


i 62 On tHe FigKtin^ Line 

our little nest. A man wants a girl to rest him, 
not to worry him with silly questions. You could 
be a most restful little person if you gave your 
mind to it.” 

I asked if he thought being in business, made me 
unrestful? 

He said it did, and it didn’t. Sometimes he 
liked to talk business when he was in the mood. 
Sometimes of course he wanted to get away from 
it. But I was the sort of girl who could leave 
all that sort of thing behind, and think of daffodils 
and green things. He thought my eyes had a bit 
of green in them, when I was cheeky. He likes 
me to be cheeky. 

I don’t feel I’ll ever be cheeky with Mr. Richard. 
But he says when I put the office before him, it’s 
awful cheek although he likes me for it. We are 
never going to misunderstand one another again. 
He is going to come here to see me twice a week 
and take me out, when possible, on Saturdays. 
Sometimes he has to go to places with his people. 
I asked if he saw much of Carol Grainge, but he 
said he didn’t. He dined there sometimes, but 
his mother can’t stand Mrs. Grainge, and he had 
rather dumped Carol with her mother. They had 
both struck him as overdressed, the sort of women 


Mr. RicHard MaKes Friends 163 

you meet at the Savoy. Of course Mr. Grainge 
was a Colossus and goes everywhere. 

But he said it was a big surprise to know Carol 
came to a man’s rooms in a place like this, 
though he knew she went her own way pretty 
systematically. He was certain her people didn’t 
know. Mrs. Grainge was a climber and all that, 
and her business was to marry Carol. She ex- 
pected Carol to make a big match, and it was 
getting time she did. This was her fourth sea- 
son. Carol had had the cheek to patronize him; 
when he is next there he will make a point of 
talking about Battersea and see if she finds that 
an interesting subject. His eyes twinkled as if he 
were interested in Carol. 

I wished I hadn’t told him. In a way, I felt I 
had betrayed her. And Mr. Richard does not 
understand. 

Carol may be fashionable and patronizing when 
she is at home but there’s an adventurous side to 
her, and she comes to Jack Ford’s rooms and 
knows his friends to satisfy the free, child spirit 
in her. She looks as if she has escaped and is 
among her own kind. 

Although in some ways Mr. Richard is boyish, 
he doesn’t understand how one can get outside the 


1 64 On tHe Fi^Ktin^ l^ine 

grown-up suspicions and customs of ordinary life, 
and yet remain nice. He classes everyone who 
doesn^t attach importance to his and his people’s 
standards as immoral. I know Mr. Richard’s 
standards are splendid, and are the standards of 
the very best sort of people, really well-bred people ; 
but Jack Ford and his friends are not immoral 
though they sit on the floor, boil their own coffee, 
call each other by Christian names or nicknames, 
directly or before they have been introduced, 
and visit each other just the same whether they 
are girls or men. They may be Bohemian, but 
they are not fast. There wasn’t a suspicion of 
flirting at Jack Ford’s party, and the only person 
in the set who would be likely to flirt is Mr. 
Richard’s friend, Carol Grainge. 

I admire Mr. Richard just because he is so 
certain he is right and sees everything in such 
an unflinching and straightforward way, and yet I 
admire Jack Ford and his friends too. It is so 
jolly to be friendly like children. They think about 
some things seriously too, although they are so 
quick to laugh. Jack Ford is perfectly serious 
about justice being done to women, and Sarah 
has devoted her life to the cause, and looks as if 
she would march without hesitation to the stake; 


Mr. RicHard MaKes Friends 165 

and Simon and the Bird Boy appear to be strug- 
gling along in their work, with great pluck. Their 
work is important to them all. And they didn’t 
make me feel hard or poor or any of the things Mr. 
Richard makes me feel, but as if I belonged to 
them and we were all one family. 

But I have found out that Mr. Richard has 
been brought up to see everything from his own 
ring-fence. He knows the very nicest people think 
that way, and so he is absolutely certain he is 
right. He is essentially well-bred. And of course 
everyone outside his own class (except, I suppose, 
the people above it) seem to him ill-bred. I trem- 
ble to think of him finding out about Aunt 
Minnie and Uncle Samuel. 

When I think of Sir Mordaunt Mordaunt’s 
piercing eyes and sneer, my heart fails. And if 
they don’t consider Carol one of their set, how 
will they accept me? What will Lady Mordaunt 
say when Mr. Richard tells her he is going to 
marry one of Mr. Grainge’s clerks. He must have 
enormous courage to have loved me, and told me 
so. I must be worthy of him. 

I expect when he asked me to give up knowing 
Carol and Jack Ford, he was thinking of his people 
and the future. They would probably hate him to 


i66 On tHe Fighting Line 

marry a friend of Carol’s. If I haven’t any friends 
it will be easier for them. 

I must put Mr. Richard before everything and 
everyone. What isn’t he giving up for me? What 
isn’t he facing for my sake? He dreads his 
father almost as much as I do, but he will have to 
bear the brunt of it and fight the battle. He is 
brave. 

He came back to kiss me after he had started 
downstairs, and we stood on the little landing and 
he told me he should picture me asleep way up 
there, in our little nest. It was as if he couldn’t 
go. I was so afraid Jack Ford would hear. But 
by good luck his door creaked, and Mr. Richard 
had started down before Jack Ford looked out. 
He caught me hanging over the bannister. 

^‘I thought I heard someone,” said he. 

“It’s only I,” said I. 

“Sorry. I was half expecting someone,” said 
Jack Ford and closed his door. I don’t know what 
he thought I was doing out there. It is a comfort 
he is Jack Ford, and not an ordinary person who 
would be curious. 


CHAPTER IX 


A VISIT FROM CAROL 
April i6thj Saturday. 

J DIDN’T think it possible our plans could 
* gang agley; but they have. The insecurity 
is worse than it has ever been. I know he 
did it because he was angry, which is a little 
comfort, but she is so attractive, and I have no 
shadow of a chance against her. Well, suppose I 
haven’t. 

What would you do, you men who have won 
through? Would you sit and mew if a better man 
than you came along? What would you do, if 
you didn’t get what you’d set your heart on? 
Would you spend the rest of your life being sorry 
for yourselves? 

I know what you’d do, what you have done, I 
bet, over and over again for no one’s plans go just 
as one would have them. I can see in your faces, 

you have set your teeth, and done the best you 
167 


i68 On the Fig'Hting Line 

could just where you were. Being sorry for oneself 
is no use. 

Carol has taken Mr. Richard and I am not 
going to mew. I am going to feel as if it did not 
concern me. I am going to stand back, if I am to 
stand back, with a good grace. I am not going to 
think of what she has and I haven’t. I am going 
to think of the things I have, and leave what she 
has, to her. 

I have had a wonderful afternoon. I have heard 
people talking of real things. Instead of being 
alone, wonderful people have been round me. I 
am going to remember all the interesting things 
that have happened. It is as if I am being de- 
voured and tortured and I want to cry and cry and 
beat the wall; but I’m not going to. I am going 
to set my teeth and put my back to the wall. 

Because Carol went off with Mr. Richard, she 
isn’t less interesting. Our talk remains. When 
I first saw her, how could I ever have guessed she 
would have come to tea with me? I should have 
been beside myself with flattered vanity. She 
came from a kind motive; she has been nice to 
me all through. How petty, how contemptible it 
would be to be jealous. Can’t I be big enough to 
admire her ! 


A Visit from Carol 169 

Loving Mr. Richard is nothing to be ashamed 
of ; I must not be afraid of people knowing that he 
comes here. Being afraid is as bad as mewing. 

Naturally I am disappointed that we did not 
have tea together, and go off for our tramp at Kew. 
We never seem to be able to do the same thing 
twice, by-the-by. One might almost become 
superstitious about it. 

Still, it was jolly of them all to troop in to see 
me, as if I were a truly friend. Of course, if I 
hadn’t looked out 

There, there ! Mewing again ! 

I did look out; I thought it was a parcel, but 
it was Carol. Directly I saw her, my heart sank, 
leagues. I knew Jack Ford was out and if she 
suggested waiting, she would have to come. She 
did. She had on a white frock, oh, so skimpy, 
there seemed scarcely any frock, and she crooked 
one knee and tilted her head back and stood look- 
ing round like something so exquisitely new and 
young, she ought to have been packed in tissue 
paper. There was a delicate pink colour on her 
cheeks, and her lips had more colour to-day as if 
she had been tinted to suit the white frock. Her 
strange, dead- white hat gave her an Oriental look. 
She might have been a little Persian Princess; 


170 


On tKe FigKting Line 


there was languor in her heavy eyelids and 
faintly smiling mouth, she never had to hurry or 
do anything she didn’t want to do. She looked a 
treasure. 

Now then; I am starting to mew. 

She looked ravishingly pretty. 

She was not thinking of the contrast between us ; 
she saw my room in the nice way in which she has 
seen me at Jack Ford’s party, and she enjoyed it 
as she enjoys being at Jack Ford’s. I could see this 
by the way she opened her eyes and smiled as if 
she were happy at last. 

‘‘Oh Minette, do you really live here, all by 
yourself, like this?” said she, as if there couldn’t 
be anything more enchanting than to live the 
way I live. Then she came slowly to the man- 
telshelf and looked at the photographs. “And 
are these your belongings?” said she. I felt 
silly at telling her they were only my heroes, 
but she laughed in her delighted way — after a 
short pause. I should hate her to know about 
mother. 

Then she strayed to the window and I told her 
about getting up on the box, and she rested her 
arms on the window-ledge. 

“Above it all,” said she. “Little Minette, all 


A Visit from Carol 171 

by herself, above it all. Am I standing on your 
Sunday frock, Minette?” 

I had on my Sunday frock. Or rather, blouse. 
I told her the tin box was full of father’s manu- 
scripts. I liked telling her that. She wanted to 
know more about father, but that would lead to 
mother. So I wouldn’t say anything except that 
he wrote unsuccessful poetry. 

She seemed to understand I didn’t want to go 
on with the subject, and came back and settled 
on the bed and tucked her feet up beneath her, 
leaning on one hand, and still looking about her. 

“ I have always wanted to live quite alone, ” she 
said, “only I could not engage servants, and I 
could not do my own hair. ” 

“How should you like to clean saucepans?” said 
I. 

“Noy I could not,” said Carol and glanced at 
her hands and mine. 

Generally I am rather pleased with my hands; 
but her nails glittered. And the big ring flavShed 
more brightly than ever, as if to emphasise the 
incongruity of diamonds and saucepans. It is 
awfully difficult not to compare. 

I was getting rather nervous; it was nearly four; 
I asked if Jack Ford knew that she were coming. 


172 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

“Yes; Stephen’s coming, and Peter,” nodded 
Carol. “I wanted to see Jack about something, 
so I came early. He’ll be sure to be back at half- 
past four.” 

Mr. Richard had said he would try to get here 
at four. 

“If you want to lock up and go out, I can sit 
on the stairs,” said Carol. 

But she could not sit on the stairs knowing 
Mr. Richard and I were in here. I wondered if I 
could rush down and wait for Mr. Richard in the 
hall. But Carol said she wouldn’t mind a little 
stroll with me if I were going out. So that was no 
good. I could only trust that Mr. Richard would 
be late. 

I tried to make conversation by asking how Mr. 
Grainge was; he has not been at the office these 
last two days. 

Carol let a rather impish smile peep out of her 
eyes; I can’t imagine her respecting anyone. 

“He’s a little better,” said she. “He’s been 
very worried lately, then his digestion doesn’t 
work. You never knew the Great King had a 
digestion did you, Minette?” 

I wasn’t going to let her make Mr. Grainge 
ridiculous. I said I knew he had worries. 


A Visit from Carol 


173 


“It’s almost inconceivable that anything he 
puts his hand to shouldn’t come off, but I’m very 
much afraid he’s undertaken something that’s a 
little beyond his weight. It’s getting on top of 
him. When anything gets on top of you, you don’t 
often pull it off. But this is lese-majeste isn’t it, 
little servant in the Temple of the Great King? 
How’s the Knight?” 

She asks the most dreadful questions, so sud- 
denly and unexpectedly that she catches one out, 
each time. 

“I leave the office behind on Saturday,” said I, 
perfectly aware that I was crimson. “I want to 
hear about all of you. Do tell me about Sarah?” 

“Sarah? Well, Sarah is very clever, and mad, 
quite mad,” said Carol. “Do you believe in 
carrying banners, Minette? I should say you do. ” 

If I had been in sympathy with the Suffragettes 
I wouldn’t, I couldn’t have let Carol laugh at me 
with them. 

“I don’t think they’re mad, but I think they’re 
wrong,” said I. 

“Well, as a matter of fact, they’re mad but 
they’re right,” said Carol. “It is always mad to 
do what is logically and absolutely right, because 
it always leads one into the most awful trouble. 


174 Fi^Hting Line 

It is such a mistake to think one does anything, 
either, by going against the tide.” 

“But one has to do what is right,” said I. 

“And do you always do it?” said she. 

“When it’s important,” said I. She remained 
smiling at me, and I flamed and flamed. 

“You can’t think it’s right for women to be 
treated exactly like men when they are so dif- 
ferent, ” said I. 

“ Do you think they are treated the same now?” 
said Carol. 

“No, but they want to be,” said I. 

“A few of them want to be given the same 
advantages and privileges and freedom as men 
enjoy,” said Carol meditatively. “A few poor 
people are sensible enough to want to be given the 
same advantages and privileges and freedom as 
rich people enjoy. The women and the poor 
people have about equal chances of getting their 
wish.” 

“But women have their own special privileges 
and advantages,” said I. 

“All women?” said Carol. 

“As much as all men,” said I. I had to argue 
against her. 

Carol made a pillow for her chin with one hand, 


A Visit from Carol 


175 


still leaning on the other. She is unbelievably 
slight and graceful. 

“No women have real privileges and advantages, 
because no women have freedom as a natural 
thing,” said Carol. “We have to pay for every- 
thing by being womanly. 

“Men have to pay by being manly,” said I. 
“My father couldn’t fight, and what did he get?” 

“Men are allowed to fight, and you don’t get 
anything without fighting in this world,” said 
Carol. “But men have made up that it isn’t 
womanly to fight for what we want. It’s un- 
womanly. Womanly women sit still and take 
what men like to give them, gratefully. Men give 
because they Hke people, not because people de- 
serve it. It’s not very easy to make men like 
us well enough to marry us; and you can’t say 
there is no competition, and you can’t say that 
competition is dignified. We are struggling to be 
liked by men, and our heart’s desire is to make 
them struggle to be liked by us. Some of us 
succeed. Some of us are domestic and make a 
man think of feather pillows, and some of us are 
heady and make a man think of wine, and some 
of us worship and make a man feel always in the 
limelight, which method between me and you. 


176 On tHe FigHting Line 

little Minette, is the most certain winner. I only 
wish I hadn’t a sense of humour. I should have a 
much easier time, if I could seduce men into the 
belief that I saw them as heroes. But on the 
other hand, I have a better time by simply being 
heady.” 

Everything I loved and respected and believed 
in, seemed to crumble into foolishness as she 
talked. For the moment, it felt as if she were 
saying terrible truths. Only for the moment; the 
men I work for aren’t like that. Sir Mordaimt and 
Mr. Grainge couldn’t be twisted about. 

” I believe in men, ” said I. 

'‘You are such an idealist,” said Carol, with her 
maddening slow smile. ‘‘I take the world as I 
find it. I get along beautifully because I know 
the game, but I know it is a rotten game. You’re 
under such a disadvantage in thinking it’s a 
splendid game, in which everyone is playing fair. 
You would never knowingly hit below the belt, 
would you? But that’s the only place where hits 
count in the world’s game. The Suffragettes are 
a little like you. They haven’t left the men in 
ignorance of what they want ; and they’ve refused 
to wheedle and make the men feel they’re mag- 
nanimous Kings and Conquerors for granting them 


A Visit from Carol 


177 


the rights every human being ought to have, 
theoretically. They’re silly enough to think they 
can win by fighting out in the open. And they’ll 
get bruised and hurt and knocked down and 
stamped out fiat. That’s why they’re mad. I 
know what is right just as well as Sarah does, but 
I am incurably sane.” 

But nothing right would ever be done if people 
didn’t stand out,” said I. “I admire the Suffra- 
gettes because they are standing out in the open; 
if I thought them right, I should stand out with 
them, too.” 

Leave the King?” said Carol, slipping into a 
prettier pose, if possible, with her head on her 
hand, half-lying. 

*^But I don’t think they’re right?” said I. 

^^But if you did, would you leave the Alliance?” 
persisted Carol, with her eyes fixed on me. 

“I am pledged to an important work there,” 
said I. “But if I weren’t pledged to anything 
particular. ...” 

Carol laughed right out. 

“Everyone’s pledged to something — or some- 
one — particular,” said she. “The women would 
have had the vote years ago, if all their trusted 

Parliamentary friends hadn’t been pledged to 
12 


178 On tHe Fig'Hting' Line 

somebody or something particular. But you see 
human nature is always pledged to its own ends 
and the Woman’s aim isn’t the aim of human 
nature, and never will be.” 

”What do you call the women’s aim?” said I. 

“Justice, without bunkum. No sentiment, no 
idealizing, no romance, no illusion; in short, not 
the least littlest bit of glamour. Do you want 
that Minette? No. Do I want it? No. Only 
I’m honest about it, and you’re not.” 

“I do believe in justice,” said I. “Only men 
and women are different.” 

“Justice never differs,” said Carol. “Same 
work; same pay; same conditions; that’s justice.” 

“But men and women differ,” said I. “Some 
of us must be in a lower place than others. ” 

How could a woman rule my Fighting Line? 

“ Is it just that I wear clothes like this, do what 
I like, have what I like, and never do a hand’s 
turn for anyone from one year’s end to the other? ” 
said Carol. ^ “ No, it’s gross injustice, and long may 
gross injustice reign. Do you think I’d give up 
all the things I love, because of justice? Never. 
Nor will men.” 

“Some men would,” said I. 

I was seeing the men who had gone out into the 


-A. Visit from Carol 


179 

far comers of the world, the men who slaved in hill 
stations, the men 

“What about Mr. Ford?” said I. “He wants 
justice for everyone, including women.” 

Carol remained looking at me with the smile 
playing about her lips. I could tell she didn’t even 
respect or believe in Jack Ford. Somehow I 
minded this worse than anything ; because he has 
no business to be weak. 

But of course she answered unexpectedly. 

“Jack Ford thinks himself a humanitarian,” 
said she. “He’s really only an artist. Has he 
shown you his poems?” 

It was a shock to hear that he wrote poetry. 

“Some of them are quite charming,” continued 
Carol. “He can write lyrics that bring the sun 
and the sea and woody places into the prettiest 
pictures that ever I’ve seen; and he also writes 
bushels of words; nasty, scientific, hideous words 
that come pelting you with facts like bushels of 
coal; clatter, clatter, oh so dusty and so dry. 
When he thinks he is a humanitarian he writes 
that way. He thinks it is humanitarian to de- 
humanize himself, because he is a poet, and poets 
never can understand we must take life as it is; 
they always want to alter it, or put something into 


i8o On the Fig'hting Line 

it that isn’t there. You have the makings of a poet, 
Minette — ” Carol turned over on her back, and 
lay looking up at the ceiling. 

“In the interests of Art, I am humanizing 
Jack,” said she. “He thinks he is successfully 
resisting; at present I am leaving him in that 
delusion. But some day I shall let him wake up 
and find he is just the ordinary man ; probably his 
heart will break, and his vanity.” 

“I don’t call him vain,” said I. Who was 
she, anyway, to decide Jack Ford’s fate like 
that? 

“All men are vain; all flesh is grass,” lilted 
Carol. “But when men become humble, and 
heart-broken, the artist in them flowers.” 

She lay there, smiling, like an inconsequent 
bit of thistle down. Just as innocent looking. Who 
could imagine a great hard root of cruel prickly 
thistles growing from a whiff of snow-white down? 
Coarse, overbearing thistles, sucking the goodness 
from the ground and planting themselves over a 
whole field. 

When she talked of Jack Ford, I knew she was 
unfathomably cruel. For she meant to hurt him 
and master him. I heard it in every word. 

She knew she had repelled me, I think, for she 


A Visit from Carol i8i 

turned over a little so that she could watch me, 
and spoke in a different voice. 

I haven’t any ideals and no desire to do right, ” 
said she. “But some day I may get pounced on, 
Minette, the same as the rest of you. For I’ve a 
fear, a big, big fear; I think that’s made me learn 
every move of the game. I’m afraid of not getting 
what I want. People like you are used to that, 
and you can grin and bear it, even though it isn’t 
pleasant. But if I didn’t get what I want, I don’t 
know what would happen, for I want things so 
dreadfully. So I have to get them, and I always 
do.” She whisked up with a sudden bubble of 
laughter, and sat crouching on the bed and 
laughing, and looking at me as if she had finished 
being serious for ever and ever. 

“Sister Anne, Sister Anne, who’s that upon the 
stair?” said she. 

“Someone whom I think you know,” said I. 

I don’t know that I’ve ever been more relieved 
than when I found Stephen and the Bird Boy on 
the landing. We knocked at Jack Ford’s door 
again, but he wasn’t in. Carol hailed them so 
they both came in, and were very enthusiastic 
about my sky parlour. Carol half lay and half 
sat on the bed, Stephen took the chair and asked 


i 82 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

if he might draw her, and the Bird Boy stood 
before the grate and smothered his face as if he 
should burst if he didn’t pull himself together, 
and then became astonishingly polite and well- 
mannered. As if he’d successfully thrown off the 
excitement. 

I was talking to him when Mr. Richard walked 
straight in, without knocking. He stood as if he’d 
been shot. He looked glorious in his new pale- 
grey tweed suit. 

I can see Carol now, poised on one hand, starting 
up, surprised, her eyes fixed on Mr. Richard as if 
he were an apparition. But there was nothing 
awkward in her surprise. 

“Oh, stay like that,” sighed Stephen. That 
released the spell, Carol cast down her eyes in the 
demurest way; there was nothing for it but to 
introduce Mr. Richard as if he were a casual 
visitor. 

“You know Miss Grainge, I think,” said I. 
“This is — ” I didn’t know Stephen’s or the Bird 
Boy’s names. But what would Mr. Richard 
think if I said Stephen and Peter? I stood speech- 
less like an idiot. 

“I don’t believe Minette knows your names,” 
said Carol and opened dancing eyes. 


A Visit from Carol 


183 


‘‘How delightful'. Oh Minette, do give us 
names; don’t you think I look like Mr. Smith- 
Ryn-Sympkin, do let it be Smith-Ryn-Sympkin, ” 
said the Bird Boy, giggling in the silliest manner. 

“I should like to be Tudor-Plantagenet, ” said 
Stephen. 

“ Don’t be idiots; why should Minette introduce 
you as anything but Stephen and Peter,” said 
Carol. I think she meant to be kind. 

Mr. Richard stood like an arrested thunderbolt ; 
at any minute I expected him to fall on me. I 
never dreamed he could look so angry. The Bird 
Boy was still pleading in an excited way that I 
should make up a name ; Stephen quenched him by 
saying, “Don’t you, Minette!” as he went on 
drawing like a familiar friend. There was no 
chair for Mr. Richard ; Carol pulled herself further 
up the bed and asked if that was room enough. 
It was at once a relief and agony when he sat 
down. 

It didn’t seem to occur to them to go; the Bird 
Boy asked if Mr. Richard had been up before, and 
as Mr. Richard glared at him, added that I fitted 
into my room like a nut into its shell. 

Stephen contributed his share by saying it was 
a ripping light, and Carol must sit again to him. 


i 84 On tHe FigHting Line 

Carol said they were both behaving very badly, 
and peeped at the Bird Boy as if it were all a 
tremendous joke; which convulsed him, of course, 
with laughter. 

I could not sit there like a dummy. I said, 
^‘What about tea?’* and Stephen and the Bird 
Boy flew to help me with the kettle. I hadn’t 
enough cups and Stephen went to see if he could 
get into Jack Ford’s room and found the door 
unlocked, and returned with biscuits as well as 
cups. If I hadn’t looked out, they might all have 
waited there. 

They are so friendly, that it was natural for 
them to help themselves to Jack Ford’s things, 
but it gave a wrong impression to Mr. Richard. 
Especially when Peter said, “We must remember 
to wash up this time, mustn’t we Minette?” How 
I wished I hadn’t told them that little joke about 
the frying-pan. It appeared as if I borrowed 
habitually from Jack Ford, ran in and out, oh 
dear, oh dear! 

The preparations for tea didn’t help much; Mr. 
Richard sat on the edge of the bed, frowning 
horribly and stiff as stiff. And then, as I was 
putting the tea into the pot, I saw a little picture 
in the looking-glass. Carol was looking at Mr. 


A Visit from Carol 


185 


Richard, an appealing look as if she knew she had 
been caught; and then, as he stared at her, still 
sulky, she put into her eyes the prettiest, funniest, 
coaxing smile, as if to say: ^‘Yes, it’s awful, but 
do see the ftmny side; I’m here to have fun with 
you.” 

I saw the glint wake up in Mr. Richard’s eyes, 
only it was for Carol. 

I stood by the fire, putting in the tea as slowly 
as possible. I could not turn and face them; I 
knew they would be sitting there not looking 
at each other, when I did. 

As they were. 

Carol was quite at her ease. It amused her 
to play at being a naughty child, on the brink 
of some tremendous danger; and she did it as 
charmingly as she did everything else. She 
made little remarks with her eyes cast down and 
then peeped out at Stephen or Peter, to make 
them laugh, pointedly not looking at Mr. Richard, 
as if he were somebody terribly important whom 
she was making fun of. I cut bread and butter 
and poured tea and couldn’t say a word. When I 
put more hot water into the pot, I looked into 
the glass again, and found Mr. Richard was look- 
ing at Carol, and though her eyes were steadily 


i86 On tHe FigKtin^ Line 

looking away, I knew she was going to give him a 
glance. I stood there pouring the water drop by 
drop, to give her all the time she needed ; and sure 
enough she did glance up for a second. 

I think Carol understood the situation, and 
meant to relieve me by going. She put on her hat 
in the precious, smiling way I had noticed the 
first time I saw her. It’s funny that I was afraid 
even then. The men stood up, watching and 
eager to wait on her; Stephen held her hat pins, 
the Bird Boy fastened a glove, after she had tried 
very hard to do it herself. Mr. Richard alone 
stood back. But when she had gone, he said, 
‘^I’m afraid I must be going too,” and went 
downstairs three at a time. 

He probably wanted to put things right with 
Carol. I can see it would never do if she went 
home and told Mr. Grainge; I am sure Mr. Richard 
felt he ought to explain ; and after all, he has met 
Carol before. 

But he hasn’t met her in the queer, informal, 
adventurous way in which they met this afternoon. 
She will know how to make the adventure attrac- 
tive. Whatever she does is attractive. And 
Mr. Richard loves to be in things; the way she 
set him out of things, would pique him terribly. 


A. Visit from Carol 187 

He would insist on being in things ; it is dangerous 
to be in things with Carol. 

I must not think of her. 

If she has won, let me take my licking decently. 

Jealousy is the meanest fault; I am not going to 
sit here and pick faults in Carol; it was mean to 
watch her and Mr. Richard; but I had to know. 
I’d rather know than not. One can at least say, 
“Very well. Now I must stand up by myself 
alone, and make the best of it.” The awful thing 
would be to cling to a person who had changed his 
mind. 

If Mr. Richard had truly cared for me, he would 
have stayed. He knows what he is to me. He 
could not hurt me like this if he truly cared. 

I must not think of him. 

The Bird Boy and Stephen found it dull without 
Carol ; there was such a sense of anti-climax when 
she’d gone. They talked about her a little. The 
Bird Boy said someone must tell her not to paint ; 
it was so vulgar ; and Stephen said he didn’t agree 
at all, everyone did it. Stephen looked out of the 
window; the Bird Boy yawned. I had really no- 
thing to say to them. They soon went. 

Mr. Richard will never, never understand how 
it is they call me Minette and I call them Stephen 


1 88 On the FigHting Line 

and Peter, although I do not yet know their real 
names. 

I wonder if he’ll come back. If he cares — but 
being angry is a sort of proof that he cares. If he 
doesn’t come back, it may be that he is angry. He 
told me he was jealous. Being jealous is a proof 
that he cares. 

Ten P.M. 

I have reason to be grateful to Jack Ford. 

He has taken me out of myself. 

It was unmanly of him to faint like that, but it 
has been a heaven-sent blessing to have had some- 
thing to do. I heard someone dragging himself 
upstairs, resting on each step, and wondered what 
it could be. Someone groaned outside on the 
landing, and instead of looking out, I had a silly 
fear, and locked my door. The someone dragged 
into Jack Ford’s room, and I heard a thud, and 
then came a terrible silence. I knew I ought to go 
in, but I couldn’t help thinking how awful it would 
be if Mr. Richard did come back, and found me 
in Jack Ford’s room, even if he were ill. In my 
heart I knew Mr. Richard would mind worse if 
Jack Ford were ill. 

So I stood by the door listening, and then I 


A Visit from Carol 189 

tried to read, and then I looked into the fire, and 
all the time my Fighting Line said, “Coward, 
Coward ; you are deserting somebody in real 
trouble.’^ At last, I went out on the landing and 
listened ; no sound came from his room. I leaned 
over the bannisters but no one was below. If I 
had heard Mr. Richard coming, I should have 
been mean enough to go back to my room, and let 
Jack Ford alone. 

As I stood there, I told myself I had done quite 
enough for Jack Ford that afternoon and had 
spoiled my happiness, and wasn’t going to be a fool 
again. But I knew I should have to go in; the 
door was partly open; I nearly tumbled over Jack 
Ford in a heap on the floor. I lit the gas and 
found his face was cut and dirty and his clothes 
covered with mud and his collar gone; he looked 
like a tramp. 

He was lying in an imcomfortable position 
breathing heavily. I propped him against a chair 
and went for some hot water. When I came back, 
he was looking round in a stupid way; I told him 
not to talk and washed his face. He had been 
cut and scratched pretty badly. He shivered and 
asked if I had a Are, but I couldn’t have him in my 
room. I told him I’d light his Are for him and 


190 On tKe Fig'Kting Line 

helped him up onto the chair and found wood and 
paper. His chimney smoked to-night and the 
coals would not catch. The smoke came into the 
room and made us cough. 

I didn’t feel kind. All the time I was listening 
for Mr. Richard; but Jack Ford looked so white, 
I dared not go. He kept shivering too. His room 
was icy cold. Mine was as warm as a toast. But 
I wouldn’t ask him in. 

I went back and piled up the fire in case Mr. 
Richard should return. The draught was on my 
side of the house to-day; I stayed by my fire 
knowing I was a selfish wretch. 

Then came a timid tap and Jack Ford came in 
to say his fire was out, might he stay for five 
minutes; he felt he should die if he couldn’t get 
warm. He dropped down into my big chair and 
there he was. 

I sat on the tin box and watched Jack Ford 
recover. It felt as if everything I had possessed 
had been taken away from me, including my 
room. Jack Ford hadn’t any idea of going; he lay 
back, weak and tired, gazing at the flames. When 
at last he spoke, he said it was lucky our chimneys 
didn’t smoke alike. 

I asked if he were better, pointedly. 


A Visit from Carol 191 

He said no, he didn’t think he was, and shud- 
dered again. 

I hadn’t any curiosity about what had happened, 
I only wanted him to go; but presently he pulled 
himself together, and told me he’d been at the 
Pavilion, and there had been a row, and a lot of 
arrests had been made. Sarah was taken. 

He shut his eyes as if he were seeing something 
awful. 

It was a shock to hear Sarah had gone to prison. 
I said I supposed it was only nominal imprison- 
ment ; but Jack Ford said she was in for a bad time. 
I asked him how he’d escaped and he said because 
his courage had given out; when it came to the 
point, he found himself fighting like a madman 
and had got away. He had meant to be taken this 
afternoon. He had given in his name. He was 
down for the hunger strike. But when it came to 
the pull, he hadn’t the courage. 

I had always thought there could be nothing 
more contemptible than a coward. But somehow, 
as he told me, I didn’t scorn him. I was mildly 
sorry for him because he had failed. And I felt he 
had been rather plucky. 

He wasn’t ashamed either, only sick and re- 
volted at the whole miserable business. As we 


192 On tHe Fi^Kting Line 

talked, I could see him growing better, and I 
began to care about Mr. Richard coming, a little 
less. When Jack Ford asked if I could give him 
a hot drink, I brewed him some coffee, and had 
some myself, with his biscuits. I had to explain 
how they came in my room, and so the story of my 
tea-party came out. 

He had not expected his friends though he was 
generally in to tea on Saturdays, He said he was 
so glad I’d been in, it was such a lot of stairs to 
climb for nothing. Not till then did I realize his 
friends had now started the habit of dropping 
in on me when Jack Ford was out. I told him 
straight out that my room was very small and it 
was rather awkward when my own friends were 
coming; this afternoon, for instance, I had been 
expecting someone from the office. 

“So you’re making friends!” said he. 

“Yes and I’m afraid my friends don’t quite hit 
it off with your friends, ” said I. “ The friend this 
afternoon was rather shocked at your friends 
calling me Minette.” 

Jack Ford smiled as if I had said a funny joke. 

“I suppose Carol is alarming,” said he, “to 
people who don’t know her.” 

He sat comfortably in his chair, enjoying the 


A Visit from Carol 


193 


fire, and chuckling at the thought of Carol and my 
friends. 

^‘My friend was not alarmed,’’ said I coldly. 
I had to snub him. “ As a matter of fact, he knew 
Carol.” 

I knew Carol would give me away, and I might 
as well give my version first. I tried to speak in an 
ordinary way; when one speaks right out about 
things, people never think anything. 

“He is the Knight I work for,” said I. 

“You don’t mean Carol knows him?” said Jack 
Ford. 

I nodded. “I work for her father,” said I. 

Jack Ford sat open-mouthed. I could have 
killed him. 

“It was naturally overwhelming to come to tea 
and find my room filled with people,” said I* 
“In fact it was so uncomfortable that my own 
friend had to clear out.” My eyes were ridicu- 
lously wet. 

“ Carol made it uncomfortable for him, did she ! ” 
said Jack Ford, frowning at the fire. 

“Oh no,” said I, “things were generally un- 
comfortable in such a pack. It wasn’t Carol’s 
fault. She tried to ease the situation by going.” 
I managed a sort of laugh. 


194 


On tHe FigHting' Line 


'‘And didn’t it?” said Jack Ford. 

‘‘Well, he had to go, too, then,” said I. My 
eyes became silly again. I knelt and poked the 
fire hard. 

I was afraid Jack Ford guessed something. I 
don’t know what I should do if he had done. But 
I don’t think he did. He is so occupied with his 
own concerns. 

He was thinking now of his afternoon. 

“It’s pretty rotten, seeing women being tor- 
tured,” said he. “But they’ve got to fight it out 
themselves. It was only feeble human sympathy 
that has led me into this beastly mess. They’ve 
got to clean out their own stable. We can’t do it 
for them. Oh, it is a beastly job, too.” 

How trivial and theoretical all that Suffrage 
business sounded when one had a real trouble. 
But I braced myself to answer. He might have 
suspected something if I hadn’t. 

“Men have always protected women; the really 
manly men, and they always will,” said I. 

“Have you ever thought — really thought — 
what the word, protection means?” said Jack 
Ford. 

I thought it a beautiful idea that the strong 
should protect the weak and said so. My mouth 


A Visit from Carol 


195 


seemed to go on talking while I listened for a 
footstep on the stair. Though I hardly dared 
to want him to come with Jack Ford sitting 
there. 

“Ah, but I mean, when a man takes a woman 
under his protection,” said he. “The accepted 
meaning of the word. Isn’t it ironical that the 
world calls it protection when a man plunders a 
woman of everything that makes her womanhood 
respected? Mind you, I don’t altogether blame 
the men. Women have got to become strong 
enough to defend themselves. They’ve got to 
claim proper salaries and make themselves worth 
it and refuse to be kept in marriage or out of it.” 

I said I simply would not talk about such things. 
I had to stop him. My cheeks burned. 

“But what’ll happen if you don’t see where this 
bunkum about man and woman’s leading us all 
into?” said Jack Ford. “Here you are, living up 
here alone, with absolutely no protection from 
society. You have no business to shut your eyes 
in this ostrich way.” 

I said I was shutting them because I was dead 
tired, and I loathed the way he talked of such 
things, and I wouldn’t have it. Jack Ford settled 
himself in his chair, my chair, and took in a long 


13 


196 On tHe FigKting Line 

breath ready to begin. I suddenly got up; I 
couldn’t stand it. 

^‘Look here,” said I. “I respect men; there’s 
the proof I do,” I stood with my Fighting Line, 
defending them. “I hate the way in which you 
talk about them. I won’t give up my ideals. I’m 
grateful to the men who have made England what 
it is ” 

“ Good Lord, what is it? England, what it is?” 
groaned Jack Ford. “The slums of England, or 
the brothels?” 

“ I won’t discuss, ” said I. “ Get out of my chair 
and go.” 

Jack Ford sat looking at me as if I were a 
maniac. Then he rubbed his head and got up. 

“You’re tired,” said he. 

“I’m tired of you,” said I, and that was an 
excuse for the tears. 

“I say, have I been a brute,” said he. 

“ I don’t care what you are. Go, ” said I. 

He blinked and blinked and stood there ; then he 
rubbed his hair again, shook his head gravely, and 
went out. It seems incredible I should have been 
so rude. But I don’t care. I’ve got to frighten 
everyone away. He mustn’t be allowed to come 
again. 


A Visit from Carol 


197 


It is mid-night now. Mr. Richard can't possibly 
come. And yet I can’t go to bed, in case he should 
be sorry; he might think of me when he was 
coming out of a theatre or some place, and come 
posting off to make friends; it would be just like 
him. I could have sworn we never could be 
separated again. 

I think my Fighting Line would lock the door 
and go to bed, and count and count until they went 
to sleep. 


CHAPTER X 


THE OFFICE OUTRAGED 
April i8th, Monday, 

A S I thought, Mr. Richard had been angry; he 
had had to go after Carol to explain ; he says 
if I had any consideration for him, I should not 
have subjected him to that sort of thing; he cannot 
come to my room again; he canT run the risk. 
They have taken my room from me. 

I have offered to give up being friends with all 
of them, but he says it’s easier said than done to 
shake oneself free from people of that type. What- 
ever I said or did, if it suited their convenience 
they would drop in. He is quite right. They can’t 
be offended. Besides, as he says, if I told them not 
to come, they would only think he had put his 
foot down. Now they know about him, the only 
possible course is to steer clear of the whole 
business. He says he will arrange for us to meet 
elsewhere. 


198 


TKe Office Outraged 


199 


May isty Friday, 

Mr. Richard is taking a cottage up the river for 
week ends. I am to come down one Saturday. 
Now the summer’s coming it is only natural that 
he should want to get away from London at the 
week ends. It will be very jolly to go down there 
one Saturday. He says he shan’t fill the place with 
visitors when I come. 

I have drawn two pounds out of the bank, my 
first encroachment on my savings. But I must 
have a new spring suit. My coat and skirt are so 
shabby. 

May 6th y Wednesday, 

I couldn’t get anything decent under three 
guineas; and my last year’s hat is out of date. It 
isn’t worth retrimming. What a long time it took 
to save four pounds, and how soon it’s gone. 

May ythy Thursday, 

I wore my new things to the office to-day. Miss 
Beckles and Miss Patten asked where I was going ; 
they admire the hat immensely but the coat 
wrinkles under the arms, and isn’t quite right in 
the neck. Ready-made things never fit. Miss 


200 


On tHe FigHting' Line 


Beckles thinks it will wear into shape. I said, as 
if in joke, that I should wear it to the office for a 
few days till the wrinkles went. But that didn’t 
explain the hat. I said it was really cheaper in the 
end to get a good one. 

May 8ihy Friday. 

Mr. Richard took me out to lunch to-day. He 
would give anything to have me in his room again. 
He is so busy now the season’s on, it’s almost 
impossible to get an evening, and he has to be 
down at the cottage so much, getting it into order. 
After lunch he took me to choose chintzes, the man 
called me Madam, it was obvious he thought — 
Mr. Richard was awfully amused. 

I came back late, and Mr. Grainge had sent for 
me, and Miss Patten had had to go in to him 
instead. I felt pretty bad. 

But oh, I see so little of Mr. Richard now. 

To-day has been something to keep and re- 
member. 

The money he spends though. Cost is no 
object to him. The cottage must be a dream. I 
am to go down to tea directly it is ready. 

My new blouse will be finished. I needn’t wear 
my coat. 


THe Office Ovitraged 201 

May 1 2th, Tuesday, 

The Women’s Rebellion cannot be extinguished. 
They have now begun an organized campaign on 
the City; it seems incredible that the post-office 
can’t protect the pillar-boxes. This guerilla busi- 
ness is making everyone jumpy. However many 
are sent to prison, others come up, persistently; 
and that dreadful W. S. P. U. goes on. I asked 
Miss Beckles what we should do if men began to 
fight when they weren’t satisfied with the law; 
she said they did, if they were dissatisfied enough. 
No one gave you anything in this world unless 
you asked for it, and every business woman ought 
to be delighted at the changes that were coming. 
I said, business people are the first who ought to 
uphold the sanctity of the pillar-boxes. 

Mr. Grainge and Mr. Richard are furious. It is 
wicked that women should disgrace our sex like 
this. I hate being a woman when I hear men 
talking of the Suffragettes. They say they ought 
to be flogged. Mr. Richard was particularly an- 
noyed ; someone wrote back to suggest he applied 
to the Government for a shipload from the W. S. 
P. U. as they’d settle any country they were sent 
to. I wish those women could know how they 


202 On tKe FigHting Line 

make the other sort of women suffer. Though 
they would probably not mind. Miss Beckles 
is dead to every sense of chivalry or self-respect. 
She laughed brutally when I told her I hated 
meeting a man, I was so ashamed, and said it was 
a healthy sign when women began to wake up to 
their feebleness. We had to realize how we were 
looked down on before we could improve. 

Miss Patten pointed out we never used to be 
looked down on, but looked up to and set on 
pedestals, and asked what would become of the 
English home if women lost their womanhood? 

Miss Beckles said it might become comfortable 
and efficient. The way the average home was run 
by the average domestic woman, would bring a 
business into bankruptcy. She asked what we 
should do if the clerks left every three months or 
so, and Mr. Grainge and Sir Mordaunt spent their 
days talking over our faults and their helplessness 
to cope with them. But until women learned to 
respect themselves, they would never be able to 
be respected, whether by their children, or their 
servants, or their husbands, brothers, fathers, 
uncles, and the rest. Miss Patten cried at the end. 

I felt more like throwing a ruler at her. 

But it annoys her most when I keep on typing. 


XHe Office Outraged 203 

It stands to reason that the strongest always 
govern, and women are physically weak. Miss 
Beckles says we should be strong if we eat the 
dinners Mr. Grainge and Mr. Richard do ; if we’re 
weak we need feeding up. She puts things so 
coarsely. The most irritating thing about her 
arguments is that I can see, in a way, they’re true. 

But I will keep my ideals. They mean every- 
thing to me. 

May 14th, Thursday, 

As I came through the streets and saw the 
placards about the Northern Mail Disaster, how 
little I thought of its effect on me or anyone I 
knew. But through that, the AlHance is plunged 
into a whirlpool, and the great Settlers Aid Scheme 
may founder. 

Mr. Richard was in Mr. Grainge’s room and I 
went in to them both. I ran into Mr. Benson ; he 
had been summoned to know if there was nothing 
from Edinburgh this morning; there wasn’t. 

It seemed Mr. Grainge had had a wire last night 
to say notes for five thousand pounds had been 
sent in to the Settlers Aid Fund, unregistered by 
accident; the wire had been signed by some such 
name as Dalkeith. He was practically certain it 


204 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

was Dalkeith but he had torn it up without think- 
ing. Yesterday was the last day of the Wharfage 
Concession that was all important to our scheme. 
On receiving the wire, he had sent off his own 
cheque for the amount, thinking he could pay in 
the notes to his own Bank this morning. 

Now what were we to do? 

For all the serious nature of the affair, it was 
glorious to be consulting there with Mr. Grainge 
and Mr. Richard. Business is Hke war sometimes. 
Here I was with my officers, meeting an emergency. 
The first step was to telephone the Bank and stop 
Mr. Grainge’s cheque. He gave me his cheque- 
book, and I noted down the number of the counter- 
foil. He had sent it off as he was leaving the 
office and the ink still looked fresh. Then Mr. 
Richard got through to the Concessionaires and 
explained. 

The notes would be sent over at noon when the 
second post came in. The Concessionaires weren’t 
very pleasant ; they had not received Mr. Grainge’s 
cheque, and wanted to know why Mr. Grainge 
couldn’t send another. Mr. Grainge spoke to them 
then: very excited about his cheque having been 
lost, too. 

The Concessionaires had had another important 


TKe Ofi&ce Ovitraged 205 

letter held up. Of course the Government ought 
to do something. But Mr. Grainge was angry. 
He took up the Postal Guide when he put down the 
receiver and suddenly said those notes must have 
caught the post last night, for he had had the wire 
at five, before he left the office, and the letter then 
had gone or the man would not have wired about 
it being unregistered. It ought to have been here 
this morning. 

Mr. Richard burst out with, “Why, sir, they 
came off by the Northern Mail.” 

“Oh that explains the delay then,” said Mr. 
Grainge, relieved, and no wonder. 

But Mr. Richard was hunting through the 
newspaper. 

“No, sir. The mail-bags are missing,” said he. 
“They’re afraid they’re burnt.” 

“God, and I’ve tom up that wire. Fool, not to 
send his address on it. Who’s Dalkeith? ” said Mr. 
Grainge. 

“We shall have to ask the Edinburgh post- 
master to look up every wire sent yesterday,” 
said Mr. Richard, meeting the position with a 
quickness that made my heart leap. 

“The post-office wasn’t a name I knew; I had 
the idea it was close to Edinburgh; was the office 


2o6 On tHe Fi^Kting' Line 

Dalkeith? I’ve got that quite clear,” said Mr. 
Grainge. 

Mr. Richard had out the Directory. Mr. 
Grainge’s face was purpling, his eyes stared out 
fixedly. 

“Search the waste paper baskets,” said Mr. 
Richard. 

“But the cleaners empty them,” said I. ”We 
should have to find where the bits go.” 

“That’s absurd,” said Mr. Grainge. “No, get 
down the Directory. We must send to every 
Dalkeith in it, and you can write the postmaster 
as you suggested; it’s a good idea. Now I must 
handle those Concessionaires again. Ring up the 
Wharfage Agency, Miss Blunt, and put me through. 
Get out a letter to the Dalkeiths, Richard, and 
explain the situation; here, perhaps I’d better 
do it.” 

Mr. Grainge called in Mr. Richard a little later 
to say he had got a seven-days’ extension with great 
difficulty. Now we had to raise the money. We 
were still four thousand, eight fifty off. They were 
closeted together, talking of possible steps, in case 
the unknown donor couldn’t be found in time. 
Would Sir Mordaunt advance the money? But 
Sir Mordaunt has frankly said the Settlers Aid 


XHe Ofi&ce Ovitraged 207 

won’t go through, and he isn’t likely to help it to. 
Mr. Grainge pins all his hopes on the Wharfage 
Concession; if we can announce that that is 
definitely obtained, he can trust the public to 
respond. And if this Settlers Aid goes well, he has 
heard of a quarter where the Irrigation Scheme 
will find favour. All this delayed the ordinary 
work, and those Dalkeiths were interminable. I 
hope I shall never hear that name again. I can 
see it now wherever I look. But it has been 
fine to be working with men, real men, to-day. 
And Mr. Richard has asked me to go down to the 
cottage Saturday. The two-fifteen. 

He’s going down to-morrow afternoon, specially, 
so that it will be finished. The men do nothing 
unless he is there. And he wants me to see it at its 
best. 

The thought made me able to type to all those 
Dalkeiths blithely. 

May 15th, Friday, 

The day began badly. A silly little quarrel 
with Miss Beckles on the stairs. I asked if she 
approved of train- wrecking, and she said it would 
be well if the press devoted a tenth of the abuse 
they lavished on the Suffragettes, to the Railway 


208 On the Fig'Hting' Line 

Commission and Directors. Women weren’t out 
after human life for the sake of dividends. They 
hadn’t wrecked the Northern Mail. 

I got upstairs, hot and cross; and wanting to 
slay every woman in sight. Then Mr. Grainge 
sent for me. 

Mr. Richard had gone off, and I was to take his 
letters. 

Nothing had been heard about the notes, and 
the post-office could find nothing. Someone had 
suggested an appeal through the Press, and Mr. 
Grainge asked if I could stay late and get it off. I 
said I could. 

“We’ve never touched the Scottish Press,” said 
he thoughtfully. “ It may be a good way of intro- 
ducing the Settlers Aid Scheme to the notice of 
the very people who’d be interested. We’ll get a 
letter into the little country sheets, that are read 
from end to end. Where do our settlers come 
from? The glens, the lochs, the little town and 
hamlets. Get the Press Guide. ” 

He dictated a wonderful letter, setting out the 
situation so clearly that the most ignorant country 
man could understand. He said we must appeal 
to the heart or Scottish people would never loose 
the purse-strings; they were so sentimental; quite 


THe Ofl&ce Outraged 209 

different from us. He spoke of the flood of help 
that had been pouring in which the pillar-box 
depredations had cut off. This was news to me ; 
but I couldn’t stop him to ask about it. Then he 
mentioned his own cheque having been sent, and 
told how it had miscarried through the pillar-box 
affair, and how the Concession had been nearly lost 
thereby. He expatiated on the heartlessness of 
the women who were thus disorganizing the entire 
community and causing thousands of helpless men 
and women to lose the chance of starting life in 
favourable conditions ; he made a great point of the 
pillar-box outrages. Of course people are very 
stirred up about them, and if the Concessionaires 
had been firm, the delay might have lost us the 
Concession. 

It was a good letter. It made one feel the 
magnitude of the scheme and the unselfishness of 
its promoters, and the cruel way in which their 
efforts were being hindered by these furies of 
Suffragettes ; and every mother or father who had 
a son out in the Colonies, or who cared for the 
Empire, would surely be touched and stirred by it. 

I told Mr. Grainge I should send every penny 
I had if I read such a letter in the paper, and had 
any pennies to send, and he laughed so nicely. He 


14 


210 On tHe FigHting Line 

said it was a big load off his shoulders that he 
could leave the whole thing now to me. He was 
going off to the Norfolk Broads for the week end, 
out of reach of letters, and he could do it with a 
free heart. I am to type each letter so that it looks 
like an intimate personal appeal, and the whole lot 
are to be sent off to-morrow. Two hundred and 
seventy-seven. As I got up, he said: “How 
much are you getting?” and I said twenty-five 
shillings. 

“ That’s too little, ” said he. “ It shall be thirty.” 

He values me. This is real promotion. 

If Miss Beckles and I hadn’t quarrelled, I should 
have asked her to help me, but I couldn’t have 
accepted help from her after the things she’d said 
about the Settlers; and she wouldn’t have typed 
out those remarks about the pillar-box outrages, 
in connection with the Northern Mail affair, which 
she maintains is not a Suffragette outrage. Miss 
Patten was going out to a whist drive, and nothing 
could have kept her from going home early to 
dress — so I was left by myself. I typed till my 
fingers became like pencils, or matches, with no 
feel to them; and the clicks struck on my brain 
till I felt dented through and through. But the 
pile grew higher and higher and I hoped I should 


2II 


TKe Ofi&ce Oxitra^ed 

get off to-morrow after all. Hurley was such a 
refreshment to think about. 

The brooms of the cleaners thumped eerily 
along the corridors for there was no one in the 
office now but me. And then one of them pushed 
open my door, a blear-eyed, slinking creature. She 
began to clean, and finally came near me; I can 
see her now looking up from the linoleum like an 
animal. ■ 

“ I came across summat tother night as they say 
might be valuable,” said she, “in the waste-paper 
basket downstairs.” 

She had some scraps of paper in her hand ; I gave 
a gasp ; the thought of the missing telegram flashed 
into mind. 

“ I Ve been told as the stamp’s worth something ; 
they say a stamp’s always worth its money even 
if its tore, and this ain’t torn, perhaps you could 
tell. Miss? I kept the bits; it seemed such a 
funny thing to tear a document with a stamp on 
that’s worth money, though I’ve found postage 
stamps in the baskets, twice I have, and they say 
finding’s keeping.” 

She put the bits down on my desk; I found my- 
self looking at the number I had telephoned the 
Bank about; the number on the missing cheque. 


212 On tHe FigHting Line 

There the fragments were, only they were the 
pieces of a blank cheque as far as I could see. 
Part was missing. 

I paid her a penny for the stamp, after I’d 
explained she couldn’t use it. 

But Mr. Grainge had referred to the pillar-box 
outrages three times; his appeal was interwoven 
with references to his missing cheque. 

It seemed an easy thing at first, to disentangle 
the issues, now the missing cheque was found ; but 
it wasn’t. When I had prepared a paraphase, it 
was absurdly bald and unconvincing. I couldn’t 
send it out. But what would Mr. Grainge say if 
I sent out his original letter after his missing cheque 
had been brought to me? At the same time, he 
wouldn’t be pleased if I altered his letter into a 
bald, uninteresting one. 

I sat there for an hour thinking what I ought to 
do. 

I couldn’t help remembering that I couldn’t 
possibly retype all those letters and get off to 
Hurley by the 2.15 to-morrow. 

But if I could see clearly what I ought to do, 
I’d do it. 

I didn’t as I sat there, and I don’t now. I can 
try to wire to Mr. Grainge to-morrow morning and 


THe Ofi&ce Ovitraged 213 

ask for instructions though he said he was going 
cruising and its unhkely I can get into touch. 
If Mr. Richard were here, I could ask him. 

But there’s no one. 

And if the letters don’t go off to-morrow and 
there’s nothing in the Scottish papers on Monday, 
and we don’t raise the money in time and the 

Wharfage Concession goes 

Well, it’s no use meeting trouble half-way. 

Oh dear, I did want to look my best to-morrow. 
I wish I had something that would make me go to 
sleep. 


CHAPTER XI 


A DIFFERENCE OF OPINION 
May i^thj Saturday, 

RICHARD says I have done wrong. 
^ ^ ^ I ought to have stayed and finished the 
letters. 

Mr. Richard thinks I ought to have sent them. 
He thinks I ought to send them now. He doesn’t 
attach importance to the fact that a statement in 
it is wrong. Oh, I wish I knew what I should do. 
If I send them out, knowing what I know, it will 
be like betraying the honour of the Alliance. I 
can’t understand Mr. Richard thinking truth im- 
important. The Alliance couldn’t send out an 
appeal with a lie in it, even if the lie wasn’t 
intentional. For, of course, Mr. Grainge thought 
the missing cheque had been posted. I can’t now 
see how it was destroyed and thrown away. 

Well, I have got to choose between standing by 
the Alliance and obeying Mr. Richard, and I must 

214 


215 


A Difference of Opinion 

put the Alliance first. It’s one thing to leave it to 
marry Mr. Richard; another, to send out a false 
statement over Mr. Grainge’s name. I know Mr. 
Grainge will recognize this; the only thing that I 
can’t feel happy about is having gone to Hurley. 
I hope that won’t come out. I can’t understand 
Mr. Richard’s attitude. He spoke as if I had 
been presumptuously disloyal. He was angry, so 
angry. ... Yet we love each other, though we 
understand each other so little. Until I spoke 
about the letters, the afternoon was a dream of bliss. 
I think in my heart I was afraid he would be angry, 
for I put off telling him about it, although it was 
all-important. 

I can hear the splish-splash of the water against 
the punt in a gurgling murmur as we met the 
current. Mr. Richard poles beautifully. His 
flannels glistened with snowy freshness; he stood 
like a young king, commanding the waters, direct- 
ing the punt with the easiest of touches. He is so 
strong, that whatever he does is easy. I lay back 
feeling no responsibility; I belonged to him, and 
my day was in his hands. He made fun all the 
time; the sun and the greenness and rippling water 
spring-cleaned us; everyone we passed looked 
happy ; I could scarcely believe I was on the river 


2 i 6 On tHe FigHting Line 

in the newest-shaped ptmt with a boating man. 
It was such a glorious afternoon, Mr. Richard 
had brought down a tea hamper so that we could 
stay as late as possible on the water. We were to 
have supper at the cottage. 

We pulled in to the bank at last, under a tree 
bursting with new green scarcely enough to shade 
us; Mr. Richard made me take off my hat to 
see if there was any gold in my hair. He said it 
was jolly with the sun on it. We boiled a kettle 
in the punt, and Mr. Richard produced delicious 
cakes from aluminum boxes. I never dreamed 
there could be such a hamper. We ate an enor- 
mous tea; Mr. Richard was in a teasing mood; it 
was such fun, such fun. He told me he was going 
to practise being my lord and master as I’d been 
getting a little out of hand lately. My spirits 
went up like magic when he said this, for ever since 
that wretched afternoon when he met Carol, I had 
felt things were a little different. But it must have 
been only fancy. He may have been jealous at 
finding Jack Ford’s friends with me. When he is 
jealous, it proves he cares. He ordered me about 
to-day, for fun; told me to smile, told me to look 
at him, told me to put something before Mr. 
Richard, he likes me to call him that, no one else 


217 


A Difference of Opinion 

does. He says it’s my claim that I’ve staked 
out; it sounded too dreadfully presumptuous to 
say what he made me say: “dear Mr. Richard,’’ 
“darling Mr. Richard.’’ We love each other, oh, 
we love each other. He must see it is my greatest 
happiness to obey him. 

Yet all the time, back of my mind, I knew we 
were snapping our fingers at something bigger than 
ourselves ; I never, never lose that sense of insecur- 
ity. It is too easy for Mr. Richard to be nice to 
people. He makes daring remarks and laughs to 
see the effect, because he is light-hearted. I can’t 
feel he would be different with any other girl. It 
is true I belong to him, and am, as he says, different 
from everybody else, but all the same 

And now I have defied him. 

He says I don’t appear to realize what I have 
done. 

He has never been angry in this way before. 

After tea, we lay there quiet and drowsy, and 
Mr. Richard said he felt like sleeping. Now he 
was peaceful, I began to think of my problem 
again; I hoped Mr. Richard would understand as 
he idealized the Alliance just as I did. So I asked 
if I might talk business; I told him I wanted his 
advice. He turned over lazily and took my hand 


2i8 On tHe FigKtin^ Line 

and laid his face in it in a sleepy way and told me 
to fire ahead. 

So I fired. 

He didn’t take it in for a bit. He didn’t really 
wake up till I told him about the cleaner and the 
cheque, when he said, What cheque? ” and I had to 
explain all over again. When I came to the point, 
that the cheque Mr. Grainge had lost in the post 
had been foimd, he sat up and whistled, and then 
laughed in a roguish way which puzzled, and still 
puzzles me ; as if I’d been telling him a joke. Then 
he put his arm round me and kissed my forehead 
and told me to stop frowning. His advice was to 
bum the torn-up cheque and neither speak nor 
think again about it. When I began to tell him 
that I had stopped the letters, he ordered me to 
quit the subject ; I was taking it much too seriously. 
“ Leave Grainge to paddle his own canoe and we’ll 
paddle ours,” said he. 

“ But I’ve not sent the letters and I’ve got to tell 
Mr. Grainge why on Monday,” said I. 

He stared down on me as if I had defied some- 
one — something — I can’t explain. 

^‘My dear child, you must go straight back and 
send them, then,” said he. “Take it from me, — if 
you want to keep your job at the Alliance and 


A Difference of Opinion 219 

miss the most thundering row youVe ever been in, 
in the whole of your blessed little life!” 

“It’s too late,” said I. 

“ Oh no, it isn’t, you must catch the five-forty- 
nine, ” said he. “You can do it, if you start in the 
next quarter of an hour; I’m beastly sorry, but 
you’ve got to get those letters off to-night.” 

“I couldn’t possibly; they’re not typed,” said I. 
“I could hardly have typed them if I’d stayed till 
mid-night yesterday; and all this afternoon. I 
could never have come down here. ” 

“You’ve not done them?” said Mr. Richard 
staring as if I were crazy. 

“I stopped when the cheque turned up,” said 
I. And then I pulled myself up and tried to 
defend myself. “ Mr. Grainge had trusted me with 
the whole thing,” said I. “I had to take the re- 
sponsibility of stopping them. I’m not a brain- 
less machine; he left a big job in my hands, know- 
ing I was responsible, and he must feel he can 
trust me to meet any emergency that may arise.” 

“You little fool!” said Mr. Richard. 

He stared at me as if I were a disobedient dog, 
with the same angry surprise. My cheeks bum 
to remember. 

“The honour of the Alliance is at stake,” said 


220 On tHe FigHting Line 

I. I don’t think I shewed how he had hurt. There 
was a misstatement in Mr. Grainge’s letter.” 

“That’s his business, not yours,” said Mr. 
Richard. He knows me so well, he feels he can be 
rude. He isn’t accountable for the way he speaks 
when he’s suddenly put out. 

“He had trusted that business to me,” said I. 
“Would you have sent the letters if you’d been 
in my place?” 

“How could I say what I’d do in your place,” 
snapped Mr. Richard, angrier than ever. “ I know 
this, there’ll be a colossal row on Monday, and if 
you’ll take my advice you’ll get back as fast as you 
can, write a few letters to some papers at the end 
of the list, just pick out a few, nicely scattered, and 
then send off what you’ve done and if the others 
don’t appear, trust that Grainge will think they’ve 
been crowded out. You can get the second batch 
done on Simday.” 

“And not tell him?” said I. 

“Of course not,” said Mr. Richard; “what am I 
thinking all this out for? Come along. You’ll 
have to look sharp.” 

“I couldn’t possibly do as you say,” said I. 

“My dear girl, I’m being firm for your sake; 
no afternoon’s worth the unholy row you’ll land 


-A. Difference of Opinion 221 

us both in, possibly, if you don’t do as I tell you, ” 
said Mr. Richard. 

“ I don’t want to stay here; that isn’t it, ” said I. 
It was as much as I could do to speak at all. That 
Mr. Richard should think I was insisting on 
staying with him — — 

“We’ll finish the argument on the way to the 
station,” said Mr. Richard with a look in his face 
I had never seen ; a grim, determined look ; there 
was no love in it now. 

I got up. I wasn’t going to argue. I made up 
my mind not to say another word till we were on 
the platform — then he should know I wasn’t going 
to obey. But not tiU I had proved I didn’t want to 
stay with him. 

The walk to the station was a nightmare. Mr. 
Richard thought I had given in, and spoke more 
kindly; I wish he hadn’t. He went on with his 
plan about my mixing up the letters so that too 
many A-s and B-s shouldn’t appear on Monday. 
He gave me his private key so that I could get in 
on Sunday without being noticed. As I said, “Yes, 
I see, ” at intervals, he became friendlier, and when 
the station came in sight, began about how 
wretched he should be without me and how he’d 
been looking forward to seeing me in his cottage. 


222 On tKe FigKtin^ Line 

and how I must come again. Not next week end, 
because his people would be down, and it wouldn’t 
be wise to put them off. He said we must not let 
Grainge know I hadn’t been at the office this 
afternoon if it could possibly be helped, as 
Grainge was so sharp he might put two and 
two together. Then he said duty was duty 
and he knew I should be a little brick about it, 
and he only wished he could come back with 
me and help me. Still it was for the Alliance, 
wasn’t it? 

I could say “Yes” with a full heart, at this. 

What I am doing, is indeed for the Alliance. 

Not till I was in the train, did I speak. 

“I’m going back,” said I, “but I’m not going 
to send those letters, because it would be dis- 
honourable to do so. ” 

The train was moving; Mr. Richard hurried 
along beside me, more startled than I could believe. 
His jaw had dropped. 

“What, what?” he stuttered. 

“So I shan’t want your office key,” said I, and 
threw it on the platform as he dropped back from 
the window. Then I sat back on the seat. I don’t 
know what the ladies at the other end of the 
carriage thought of the episode. 


A Difference of Opinion 223 

I have been trying to digest what has happened 
ever since. 

Mr. Richard doesn’t share my ideas about the 
honour of the Alliance. 

If my Fighting Line had been entrusted with the 
honour of a Cause, they would have stood by it. 
Mr. Grainge will understand. He is older and 
wiser than Mr. Richard. I can see how Mr. 
Richard is swayed by his love and admiration for 
Mr. Grainge. He doesn’t want me to do anything 
that could seemingly reflect upon his hero’s care- 
lessness, his sagacity, his omnipotence! For 
Mr. Grainge has been careless to make such a 
mistake about that cheque. But great men 
are glad to be saved from the results of their 
mistakes. Specially when truth would be im- 
perilled, otherwise. 

I know Mr. Grainge will understand, and after 
this he will know how I feel to him and the 
Alliance. 

I don’t believe my Fighting Line were ever in a 
corner where more courage was needed, than when 
I came out of the station. When the shops and 
offices are shut, London is terrifying. One sees 
the bigness of it in cold blood. As I walked up 
Victoria Street it was as if the tide had receded, 


224 On tHe FigHting Line 

leaving monstrous rocks that loomed up, shadow- 
ing everything. 

I was an idiot to go back to the City, but I 
wanted to read the letter again, to see if it could 
be altered. Of course, the office was shut up and 
the caretaker away. 

How dare London stop working? What Power 
is it that makes the City pause, sweeps all the 
tide of life out of it, leaves it cold and empty every 
week end? 

This lovely afternoon the workers were in 
every part of the country resting and friv- 
olling and recreating their used-up selves. How 
wonderful it seems that humanity should be 
allowed the week end, and even London be 
unable to suck us in. The great, cold, in- 
human blocks of offices glittered blankly, the 
warehouses were dark and dead, the shop 
fronts screamed their messages to empty streets, 
and in the silence, the arrogant clutch of 
this god called Business, could be seen for what 
it was — ugly, merciless, and cold. Yet the god 
was only waiting. On Monday we should all 
be sucked back into the area where he ruled, 
and the tide would roar about the rocks and 
the Powers would struggle, and in the midst 


-A Difference of Opinion 


225 


of the thickest whirl of the currents, I would 
have to battle. As I walked the streets, I saw Mr. 
Grainge as the god, who was waiting, waiting. 

Monday, May lyth. 

Black Monday. Black Monday. 

Looking back, I can see I was terribly afraid; I 
shouldn’t have needed to feel so terribly brave if 
underneath there hadn’t been the consciousness of 
danger. Just as soldiers going into action need 
all the drums and bugles and banners possible to 
excite them, and beat down the fear, so I had to 
keep in mind my Fighting Line and think of my- 
self as an ensign bearing the colours for the army 
and all that sort of rot. I had to tell myself I was 
doing something heroic, to get down to the office 
this morning. Back of it all there was the growing 
realization of the awful thing I’d done. It looks 
as if it’s more awful than anything I could ever 
possibly have imagined. It’s difficult to think at 
all about it, the horror is so great; oh, I pray I 
am mistaken, I pray I have made a most un- 
justifiable and abominable accusation. I try to 
persuade myself I’m mistaken and sometimes I 
almost do it; but underneath, all the time, I 
remember the number clearly, clearly. 


15 


226 


On the Fig'Kting Line 


And I don’t see how Mr. Grainge could have 
entered the amount on two counterfoils, if he had 
torn out two cheques by mistake. Besides, the ink 
to-day was fresh. 

Yet, if he has lied, deliberately hed, about it. 

One can’t conceive anybody deliberately lying, 
unless he’s thoroughly degraded. I can’t believe 
Mr. Grainge has deliberately lied. If he were in 
the wrong, he would not have told Sir Mor daunt 
of my accusation. Though I hadn’t meant it as an 
accusation. 

I was an idiot to think he would be glad to be 
told of his mistake. Men like Mr. Grainge are 
above criticism or help. It is for them to dictate 
to the atoms round them ; there must be somebody 
omnipotent at the head of great concerns. And 
when an atom in their service, turns round and 
corrects them, they are righteously indignant. 

I said Mr. Grainge would know to-day how I felt 
to him and the Alliance. As I went down to the 
office I kept this thought before me ; I remembered 
Mr. Richard’s expression when he found how 
much I cared ; I remembered how he had welcomed 
my comradeship, and I pictured Mr. Grainge 
welcoming me in the same way. 

Everything was just as usual first thing; the 


A Difference of Opinion 227 

girls chatted away, I chatted too, and underneath, 
all the time, my heart was thumping as I waited, 
waited for Mr. Grainge’s bell. 

He looked the better for his week end, he leaned 
back with his genial twinkle ; it seemed to me he 
spoke already as to a young colleague, not a clerk. 

“Well, did you get them off?” 

There was no doubt in his voice, he already 
smiled approvingly. I found I didn’t know how to 
put it when he eyed me — the stupid colour started 
rising and burning — I heard myself panting. Mr. 
Grainge’s expression slowly changed. He spoke 
sharply. There was nothing to say, after all, but 
that I hadn’t done the letters because his cheque 
had been found. 

“Cheque?” said he. 

I explained about the waste-paper basket and the 
cleaner. 

Mr. Grainge still stared at me as if asking what 
that had to do with the letters to the Scottish press. 

I found myself saying that they couldn’t go with 
a misstatement, and as he had mentioned the 
cheque twice and the letter was in a way founded 
on the fact that his own cheque had been destroyed 
by the Suffragettes, I didn’t see how I could rewrite 
the letter, convincingly. As I heard myself men- 


228 On tHe FigKting Line 

tioning the possibility of my rewriting Mr. Graingers 
letter, the impertinence of such an idea dawned 
on me. 

Mr. Grainge looked at me as if I were an 
imbecile. He did not appear to hear what I was 
saying about the misstatement. The only thing 
he could take in, at the moment, was my insolence. 

“I may be very dense but I really don’t know 
what you’re talking about,” said he. “I gather 
you did not feel competent to rewrite my letter, 
but I can’t remember having asked you to put 
yourself to that trouble. It really had not occurred 
tome.” 

“But the letter was no use after the cheque 
had been found,” said I. Sir Mordaunt’s con- 
tempt is nothing, nothing, compared to the way 
Mr. Grainge spoke. He rubbed my face in my 
insignificance. 

“Do you know, I must be very stupid this 
morning, but I haven’t grasped what cheque 
you’re speaking of,” said Mr. Grange. 

I explained again, stumbling this time. 

“Are you talking of the blank cheque I tore out 
with the other, by mistake,” said Mr. Grainge. 
If he did not tear it out by mistake with the other, 
he is diabolically clever, for he said it pat, with- 


229 


A Difference of Opinion 

out stopping a second to think or looking confused. 
Just stared at me incredulously. 

If I have made a mistake, its enormity is beyond 
comprehension. But there was the number. 

“But you showed me the cheque-book, sir, don’t 
you remember?” said I; “when I had to telephone 
to the Bank about the number.” 

“It wouldn’t be the first time two counterfoils 
have stuck together,” said Mr. Grainge coldly. 

I could have sworn I had looked at the last 
counterfoil when I took the number. 

“And I imderstand you have not typed the 
letters,” said Mr. Grainge, “in spite of my urgent 
order. I think you had better go and do them 
now. Miss Blunt. Please send Miss Patten to me. ’ ’ 

I went out like a crushed worm. 

I was ready to believe I had been mistaken then. 
I had done for myself. Mr. Grainge had entrusted 
my first big job to me, and I had gone down to 
Hurley and betrayed his trust. For if I had not 
wanted so desperately to go to Hurley, I should 
have typed all the letters even if I had held them 
back till Mr. Grainge returned. 

I hadn’t been in my room long before Miss 
Patten came back and said Mr. Grainge wanted 
the letters I had done. 


230 On tHe FigKting' Line 

' I took them in. Mr. Grainge had his cheque- 
book in his hand. 

“You are right, Miss Blunt, I did tear out two 
-cheques,” said he bitingly; “if you will look, you 
will see the counterfoil ; I had entered ‘ Defaced ^ 
on the counterfoil of the cheque you have in yoiu: 
possession.” He held out the open cheque-book, 
keeping it in his hand. I could swear the counter- 
foil had only just been written on and it was the 
number after the one I had telephoned to the 
Bank. 

“So I think the letters now may go,” said Mr. 
Grainge, not genially but as though I wasn’t worth 
correcting. He was on a pinnacle from which he 
could hardly see me without straining his eyes. I 
stood there like a fool. I couldn’t get over the 
suspicion that he had just torn out a cheque and 
filled in the counterfoil. In which case my belief 
in everything that was sacred to me had toppled 
down. 

“And I think an apology would not be out of 
place,” said Mr. Grainge, beginning to write. 
“It is a new experience to be accused of forgetful- 
ness by a clerk, and one that I do not wish to have 
repeated.” 

He wrote on, as he waited. 


-A. Difference of Opinion 


231 


I tried to say something, but the number danced 
before me. 

At last I spoke. 

“That wasn’t the number I telephoned,” said 

I. 

I don’t know why I was such an idiot, but it was 
the truth. I never forget a thing like that. 

Mr. Grainge continued writing, but his face 
slowly purpled. 

“Am I to imderstand you accuse me of lying?” 
said he. 

I couldn’t speak. 

I had no chance with him. 

I hadn’t meant to accuse him, but it was the 
truth. 

Oh, I hadn’t meant to accuse him. That Sir 
Mordaimt should have come in just then, feeling 
as he does, to Mr. Grainge! 

The big door swings so noiselessly and the 
carpet is so thick, we had not heard him come, and 
his voice came out of nowhere. 

“Good morning,” said he, and there he was 
standing by the door; he moved quietly to the desk, 
not noticing me, as usual. 

“That will do. Miss Blunt, you will go on with 
the letters,” said Mr. Grainge. 


232 On tHe Fi^Htin^ Line 

“These?” said Sir Mordaunt. He took up one 
from the pile on Mr. Grainge’s desk. 

I heard Mr. Grainge saying, “Oh, ah, yes, I 
thought it best to send out the facts of the posi- 
tion,” as I went through the door. 

When I got upstairs again, I found Miss Heckles 
with a “special,” at once jubilant and angry. The 
accident to the Northern Mail was now proved 
to be the work of thieves, and the mail-bags were 
almost certainly stolen. The police were on the 
track of the criminals and disclosures were ex- 
pected hourly. The Suffragettes had died out of 
the question, altogether. But no one apologized 
for the accusation; no one even refuted it. It 
remained to swell the general vague indignation 
even though it had been proved imtrue. 

Still Mr. Grainge’s letter was now hopelessly 
out-dated. I was not surprised wh^en a message 
came for me again. 

As I expected, he had decided it was too late now 
to send out this appeal. From the curt way in 
which he told me, I knew Sir Mordaunt had put 
his foot down. But our little business wasn’t yet 
cleared up. 

“Sir Mordaunt is inclined to take a more 
serious view of your behaviour than myself,” said 


A. Difference of Opinion 233 

he. *‘He felt instant dismissal necessary. But 
I hear now that there is a chance of the mail-bags 
turning up, in which case the cheque we were 
expecting by that mail will be forthcoming, and 
the charge of sending out an appeal based on 
hypothetical statements will be repudiated. I 
particularly do not wish you to leave just now. I 
think you will see this is only fair. ’’ 

My eye fell on that pitifully out-of-date Appeal. 
I saw Sir Mordaimt reading it; I heard his com- 
ments. Not till then did I dream the mysterious 
Scottish contributor whose notes had been held up 
in the missing mail-bags, might be questioned too. 

I can’t see how Sir Mordaunt could take the 
matter more seriously than Mr. Grainge ; his 
manner showed he was furious with me. I could 
have cut myself up into little bits; I could have 
thrown myself on the groimd and begged him to 
trample over me; I could have done anything 
desperate like that. Only that sort of thing does 
no one any good. What I could not do, was look 
Mr. Grainge in the eyes and make a simple state- 
ment to the effect that I could see now I had made 
a mistake, and was sorry. 

I know it’s possible that I may be proved wrong, 
but I can’t be sure. And till I’m sure, my apology 


234 On tHe FigHting Line 

is valueless to Mr. Grainge. But what it will be 
like, working with him after this, passes thought. 
I can’t think what Mr. Richard will say. I don’t 
dare to. 

Every moment is weighted with fear and horror 
as if something is clutching and stifling me. 

I am to leave the Alliance when I have apolo- 
gized. I can’t expect Mr. Grainge and Sir Mor- 
daunt to forgive me if I’m wrong. If the mail-bags 
turn up and the Scottish notes aren’t in them, — 
well, I’ve done with fairy-tales about being of use 
to the Alliance and being rewarded. That inter- 
view this morning showed me my place. 

I have criticized my superiors; and I’m to be 
squashed flat. I only hope Mr. Grainge will be 
right, and I, wrong. I’d rather leave, knowing I 
deserved punishment, with my ideals alive. 

Tuesday, 

Miss Patten’s mother is ill, and she has been 
away to-day. 

When the news came, I had a spasm of hope, for 
Miss Patten is sometimes sent for, to Mr. Richard’s 
room. I should know what he feels about the 
situation, if I could have two words with him.. 
After lunch Miss Beckles was telephoned for. 


A Difference of Opinion 235 

I was still busy on those interminable addresses, 
yet it was a deathblow when Miss Beckles said, 
“Yes, Mr. Mordaunt,” and turned round with, 
“Bother! That means I shan’t get my filing done 
by tea.” 

“Why?” said I, trying to appear cool. 

“I’ve got to take the Argentine report in; I bet 
that means another copy to be made,” grumbled 
Miss Beckles. “One never gets a clear, straight- 
forward day.” 

I couldn’t offer to go though I felt she was 
making it easy for me. But there was a suspicion 
of artificiality in the way she lingered pretending 
not to see the report which she’d just placed under 
a piece of blotting-paper. I would not ask if I 
might go. 

I’m almost sure Miss Beckles and Miss Patten 
suspect something ; they are certain to have made 
up some romance because I took Mr. Richard’s 
letters. They think it’s the usual silly business of 
getting a look or smile from a good-looking young 
man. No. I couldn’t fall into her little trap. 
But how I pined to go. 

“Look here, I must get off early to-day; I’m on 
a committee for the Pilgrims’ March,” said Miss 
Beckles with sudden, natural selfishness. “ Do you 


236 On tHe Fi^Ktin^ Line 

mind running in with this, there’s a dear? It 
isn’t as if it’s anything Mr. Richard wants to ask 
about.” 

I have strength of mind up to a certain point, 
and then it evaporates. Something warned me 
that it was unwise to go, but something else 
pushed me over the line. 

“This it?” said I, and marched out with my face 
like a turkey-cock’s, confirming any suspicions 
she’s ever had. 

I was nicely paid out. 

I walked straight into Mr. Grainge and Sir 
Mordaunt, holding a consultation at Mr. Richard’s 
desk. I pulled up instinctively, and showed 
what I was feeling. I saw Mr. Richard bend 
his head down, purple. It was like facing fire 
to cross that room, for Sir Mordaunt glanced at 
Mr. Richard and then at me. It was the wrong 
report. 

“I particularly asked for Miss Beckles,” said 
Mr. Grainge snappily. “Isn’t she there?” 

“She asked me to come because she was finish- 
ing something,” I faltered. It soimded such an 
excuse. Mr. Richard was trying to bury his 
blushes in the waste-paper basket. 

I made my escape knowing my idiocy had got 


A Difference of Opinion 237 

us into trouble all round. How angry Mr. Richard 
looked ! 

Miss Beckles came back, furious, and asked 
what was the matter with them? 

“Think they can treat us like dogs,” she 
stormed. “ I wonder you can stand being spoken 
to in the way men speak to us. Sometimes I’m 
sorry I left the only ones who’ve the courage to 
stand up to them. Let men have a bit of the dirt 
they make us eat.” 

I couldn’t argue; I agreed with her. 

“Christabel’s the only person who can give 
them what they deserve,” said Miss Beckles, 
tapping out her sentences until I thought the 
typewriter would break. “A mass of pride and 
power and tyranny, that’s what the City is, and 
we’re fools to do their dirty work so that they can 
roll off in their motors to their kept women. 
That’s what their wives and daughters are — slaves 
to indulge their appetites. But when they work 
us as well, and get their pleasure out of what’s left 
of us, overtime; well then you’d think even we 
slaves would wake up. ” 

“I can’t imagine Mr. Grainge or Sir Mordaunt 
stooping to be civil to their clerks, let alone be 
friendly,” said I, hot again. 


238 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

“They’re not young enough, ” said Miss Beckles. 

I turned shaky. 

“It’s these young lords of creation that think 
they have the run of the slaves that wait on them, ” 
said Miss Beckles never ceasing typing. “And if 
they’re young enough, they’ll kid themselves and 
the girl that they’re doing a precious, generous 
action. A few flowers and days in the country and 
lunches at swell restaurants, is a lot to pay for a 
clerk. If you knew what I know, you’d turn sick 
at the sight of a man. ” 

“If a girl accepts that sort of thing, she knows 
what she’s in for,’’ said I; “and what that is, 
depends on the man. It’s the place of men to give 
things to women.” 

^ ‘ Give ! ’ ’ cried Miss Beckles. ^ ‘ Money’s an easy 
thing to give; when you’ve paid money for your 
fun, you have it and you’re free; but women pay 
with something that don’t leave them free. I 
shouldn’t have a word to say about anything that 
happened between men and women who started 
fair and equal. Nor if women could get the 
pleasant things of life by their own work.” 

“Thousands of men are as poor and hard- worked 
as we,” said I. 

“Oh well, if you’re content to lick the dust, you 


-A. Difference of Opinion 239 

must,” said Miss Beckles and snapped her “A” 
clean off its stick. 

I hate the way she talks, but her words sting. 
It was awful to be spoken to before Mr. Richard ; 
how can he respect me when he sees me chivied 
about like trash? 

He gives me flowers and takes me out because 
he honours me. He isn't bribing me or paying for 
me. 

Some men might look at things that way, but 
not Mr. Richard. 

All men are not alike. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE MERRYMAN AND HIS MAID 

Wednesday^ May igth. 

TN the midst of trouble, life goes on offering 
* enjoyment. I don’t think rifts of sunshine do 
make storm-clouds worse. All through this dread- 
ful day I’ve felt cheered by last night. After one 
has had a douche of pleasure, the edge of one’s 
wretchedness seems taken off, somehow. Things 
are as black as ever they were, and when I think 
of Mr. Richard, I nearly go mad, but that’s just 
why last night was such a Godsend. It’s some- 
thing to hold on to; all I have at present that isn’t 
terrible to think about. The office is like the 
condemned cell. 

It was good of Jack Ford to forgive me when I’d 
turned him out of my room, ill and tired, to his 
cold, smoky fireplace. He is odd. He really 
doesn’t seem to have any of the finer feelings at all. 

A gentleman couldn’t have behaved as if nothing 
240 


TKe Merryman and His Maid 241 

had happened ; but there is a strain of obtuseness 
— a matter-of-fact, thick-skinned insensitiveness. 
If he were in need of a pin, he would ask his 
dearest enemy for one without the least sense of 
proper pride. After I had snubbed him as I did, 
how he could have knocked at my door and asked 
me to help him get into his costume! Of course, 
it's a relief, in one way, to know anyone like that. 
Sensitive people are always being hurt when one 
hasn’t the least intention of hurting them; but 
Jack Ford begins fresh every time he meets his 
friends, and doesn’t even forgive them. I could 
hardly believe that he didn’t know he was being 
magnanimous, but I do verily think his only idea 
was to get into that dress, and he had no feeling 
at all about me. 

I would have welcomed anyone after the day 
at the office; Mr. Richard hasn’t answered my 
letter yet, and I never see him, and Mr. Grainge 
speaks to me as if I were a beaten dog, which is 
what I feel like. Miss Beckles and Miss Patten 
have guessed something is up and they sympathize 
with me, quietly — No, I won’t begin to think of 
it. I’m going to hold onto last night. 

I’ve got to economize with a vengeance, for 
there’s nothing in the Bank now to fall back on; 

16 


242 On tHe FigHting Line 

I was having an orange for supper when Jack 
Ford tapped. 

Of course I thought it was Mr. Richard, and 
nearly choked, and threw my untouched half 
away. I was annoyed when it was only Jack Ford 
in scarlet tights and shirt sleeves, looking like 
something in a pantomime. 

He put his head in, confidentially, speak- 
ing rather more ingratiatingly than usual, but 
otherwise as calm and genial as ever. He 
had been lent a fancy dress into which he 
could not get. He had just managed the tights 
but the coat was an impossibihty imless some- 
one held it. Should I mind coming in for a 
minute? 

The coat was an impossibility, tug and pull and 
push as both of us might. Jack Ford finally sat 
down breathless. How he had got into the tights 
I could not think, until he explained the owner had 
stuffed them shockingly. 

He was determined to get into the coat, how- 
ever, as he would not be admitted to the ball, 
without a costume. So we tried anew. Jack Ford 
hurled himself into it this time, and the coat 
cracked down the back, clear to the waist ; but his 
arms were in. By dint of struggling a little more. 


TKe Merryman and His Maid 243 

he considered he had got it on; meet at the front, 
of course it wouldn’t. 

He is nothing if not inventive. After examining 
his back in the glass, he had the inspiration to 
tatter the coat till it was comfortable, and gave me 
a knife to rip the sleeves till they didn’t pinch and 
slit the coat beneath his arms, till he was bursting 
out everywhere, as through a trellis- work. He was 
awfully pleased with the effect, and said it was a 
much more natural costume for a Merry man. I 
wondered what the owner would say, but Jack 
Ford considered he had improved it. As he said, 
a fancy-dress is fancy-dress. 

He was so absurdly radiant and satisfied, and 
the remains of the coat were so absurdly inade- 
quate, and his tights were so absurdly tight that I 
suddenly went off into wild peals of laughter. He 
looked amiably sheepish, and that made me laugh 
more. 

“Why, what’s the matter? anything wrong?” 
said he. “I daren’t twist round much more.” 

I told him he could see quite enough to laugh at 
if he looked straight before him, and then I dried 
my eyes, and said I felt more like crying than 
laughing, and wasn’t in the mood for such things 
and I hoped he’d enjoy himself. 


244 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

“But I say, look here,” said he. “Why not rig 
up something for you? my ticket says I can bring 
a lady. It’s inclusive, supper and all. If you’re 
not in the mood, it’s just then you ought to go to 
such affairs. Shake you out of yourself ! I have it, 
Peter’s sure to have something. He’s got a chest 
of costumes. Come on. His studio is in Ken- 
sington, close to the Hall.” 

“I — go to a ball ?” I gasped. 

“It’ll do us both a world of good,” said Jack 
Ford, sitting down and leaning forward with his 
hands on his knees in a goblinish, and yet fatherly 
way. “I’m not a bit up to the mark myself, and I 
can tell you, I had to make the effort of a Hercules 
to get into this costume. ” 

This was so true that I began to laugh again, 
foolishly and helplessly. 

He grinned to see me laugh. 

“You’re much more in the mood than I, ” said he. 
“Do come; I hate going to a thing like this alone. 
One feels such a fool. You know; the first plunge, 
when you get inside ! I was racking my brains to 
think of a lady. Rum I never thought of you. But 
then I suppose I never think of you as a lady.” 

“I can’t go without a dress or proper slippers,” 
said I. 


THe Merryman and His Maid 245 

“Rot. Come as my Maid; the Merry man and 
his maid, then you ought to wear street shoes. 
The mud will be rather natural. Come along, it’s 
getting on, and I shall soon be hungry. I know 
Peter will lend us something.” 

I can’t think to this minute how I accepted. 
Somehow, Jack Ford hurried me into it before I 
could think; he didn’t let me go back for a hat; he 
said it was a lovely night, and it wouldn’t be 
etiquette to go to a ball in a hat. 

It was strange to be going out so late. Battersea 
was going to bed already ; in the quiet streets the 
bedroom windows were lit up. I should have been 
going to bed now, most nights. And here I was, 
starting the evening, out-of-doors with no hat on, 
and hurrying to find a dress. 

As we ran along we talked of the way people 
were divided, just the same as animals. Stay-at- 
homes and out-of-beds; all the domestic fowl and 
beasts going to roost and curling up in dens and 
stables, and the wild creatures coming out when 
the others went in, though they came out in the 
day as well, some of them. 

Some people certainly sleep less than others 
and live much more, in consequence. Jack Ford 
is used to going to all sorts of places, knowing all 


246 On tHe Line 

sorts of people, and seeing all sorts of sights. As 
he talked London became an Enchanted City 
indeed, in whose dark places lurked unimaginable 
interest and sparkle. 

He is so jolly in the way he sees things; there 
is nothing feverish or unsettling in his adventures: 
he discovers people doing all sorts of strange work 
in the time when we domestic small fowl sleep; 
and is big-hearted enough to be interested. It is 
glorious to hear him talk about brotherhood; he 
says we must know what our fellow-beings are 
doing; ignorance and indifference separate us; we 
must know about each other before we can like 
each other, and we must always be ready to 
enlarge our knowledge. It is difficult to realize 
that scavengers are our brothers, and feel grateful 
to them for keeping our homes and cities clean. 

The Bird Boy was out. Jack Ford hunted up 
his caretaker, explained his errand was urgent, and 
got the key. We went into a gorgeous studio with 
a balcony and huge window, and Jack Ford turned 
out a heap of stuffs and rags which he called 
costumes. He pinned a Chinese mat together for 
a cap, and made me put on an Eastern shawl 
wrapped round and round in swathes. I would not 
take off my blouse, as he wanted. He said I should 


TKe Merry-man and His Maid 247 

be awfully hot, and I was, but still . . . Then he 
borrowed a white apron from the caretaker and 
tied it round to make the shawl stay on, and give 
the costume a peasant look. He enlisted the 
caretaker finally, and she sewed me into the 
shawl. 

She stood and scratched her head, staring at me 
when it was done, but Jack Ford was awfully 
pleased, and said he shouldn’t be at all surprised 
if I bore off a prize. He said there was a touch 
about it which it was impossible to get in hired 
costumes. They were all so much the same. From 
the expression on the caretaker’s face, I could see 
I looked like nothing on earth. 

Then we went on to the Ball. Fortunately Jack 
Ford borrowed another shawl, for a cloak, so I 
was more or less inconspicuous; he left his over- 
coat at the Bird Boy’s as he discovered an Italian 
military cloak, which he thought suited his costume 
better. I tried to persuade him to keep it on 
altogether, for that little coat looked scarcely 
decent, and the tights were not dependable, but 
Jack Ford had taken a tremendous fancy to him- 
self as a Merryman. Besides, as he said, the cloak 
weighed tons and was most awfully hot, even 
to walk in. The shawls were pretty thick. Per- 


C 48 On tHe FigHting Line 

sonally, I think the one I was sewn into, was a sort 
of carpet. And I had all my things on underneath. 
Human endurance is really miraculous, when one 
thinks of what one will go through to get a little 
pleasure 

When we arrived, we had to say what we were ; 
so Jack Ford told me to call myself, Escoffian 
national costume. 

But, if I had realized what we were in for 

Motors were driving up and brilliant visions 
stepping out, and people were walking, and crowds 
were round the portico, and oh dear, they cheered 
Jack Ford. He did walk rather bouncingly ; he was 
so awfully pleased with himself. He beamed on 
the crowd, taking their cheers in the most good- 
humoured way, and as we went up the steps, asked 
if I’d bet him a shilling that he’d have a prize. 
He should go in for the Mediaeval Section. 

I said I should enter in the Miscellaneous one. 

The costumes that were flashing past — real dance 
dresses decked out with embroideries and spangles 
and jewels and flowers, a hundred times more 
elaborate and fashionable than the most fashion- 
able ball-dresses one sees in shop windows, and 
every one diaphanous. I dared not look at myself 
in the cloakroom, but I couldn’t help a glimpse 


THe Merryman and His Maid 249 

of the queerest packet, exactly like a girl in ordin- 
ary dress sewn up in a carpet with a coarse white 
apron tied round, and a table mat bunched up on 
her head. And already I was hot. 

I partly wanted to blush and partly wanted to 
howl with laughter when I came on Jack Ford, 
waiting outside, still beaming. The coat had 
entirely parted at the back, and flapped. He had 
pulled out his shirt in garibaldi style. As we went 
in, he told me the glasses in the cloakroom had 
been an inspiration ; he only wished he had had one 
like that to dress by. 

Then we came into that huge hall, and oh dear, 
oh dear — . It was glorious to be there, through 
any excuse. I couldn’t have imagined such dresses 
and richness and gaiety. The band was playing 
music that made every bit of one thrill, and instead 
of waltzing the dancers were hopping and prancing 
and cavorting. I wanted to laugh and yet it was 
all so jolly, I felt more like crying with happiness. 

We sidled round till we came to a bench. Then 
I told Jack Ford I should be perfectly happy 
watching and he must feel quite free to find a 
partner. I was relieved to hear he couldn’t dance. 
We watched for a bit, and then it turned out we 
were both thinking the same thing. Jack Ford 


250 


On tHe Fi^Hting Line 


said he couldn’t see why dancing should be 
difficult if one did exactly like the couple in front, 
picked a good pair, and followed them. And I said 
I felt I could do it ; my feet seemed to be going in 
spite of myself, and there were too many people 
there, for any one to notice us. 

So we tried. 

It was more difficult than it looked from outside, 
because when you were among them all, you 
couldn’t see anything much. But we hopped 
about and enjoyed it, when we weren’t bumped too 
much. It was awful when we knocked into people. 

Jack Ford thought we did perfectly, but I’m 
not so sure from the looks that were bestowed on 
us. 

Though as Jack Ford said, we had a right to 
dance as we liked, it wasn’t a performance or a 
competition. Merely pastime. 

He got so encouraged with himself, that when a 
very stirring measure started, he said it made him 
think of prancing horses, and he had a magnificent 
idea. I was to watch him and copy every move- 
ment, and then people would think we were doing 
a real dance. 

Of course he was getting very excited by now. 
I was too hot to feel anything much but the heat. 


TKe Merryman and His Maid 251 

but Jack Ford had set his heart on this idea, and 
I couldn’t back out. So we started prancing until 
someone spoke to us. A horrid man with a great 
nose, who said this wasn’t the circus. 

Even Jack Ford became hushed at this. We 
strolled off to get cool. As we passed two people 
who had been staring very hard, Jack Ford said 
in a loud voice that it was extraordinary to come 
to a dance where they didn’t know the Boliska, 
but London was so horribly behind the times. 
This remark revived him. I don’t think the 
people were at all taken in by it, myself, and when 
we got out into a corridor I told him so. 

He said he thought they looked crest-fallen, and 
he should go up to the bandmaster and ask why 
the Boliska wasn’t on the programme. But I 
begged him not to. I had to tell him he didn’t 
look the sort of person who would know of more 
fashionable dances than the people here, and I 
thought it would be nice to rest a bit now and 
watch. I was nearly fainting in that carpet. 

He was awfully nice when I told him this, and 
wondered if he could rip the stitches out, but I 
didn’t feel inclined to risk any more ripping. And 
though he pointed out ladies with much less on 
than I should have if I took off my blouse in the 


252 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

cloakroom, I really could not do it. It’s all very 
well to have an evening dress that’s cool, but when 
you are wrapped in a carpet, you cling to a blouse. 
It connects you with your species. 

But now that we had stopped jigging about, I 
began to feel miserable again. My thoughts swung 
back to Mr. Richard. It was strange that he had 
not answered. I know he’s angry, but he ought 
to have written something in reply. The thought 
of him is eating away, all the time, and through all 
the laughter and merriment last night, deep down, 
the pain was waiting to prick again. 

Presently Jack Ford asked if I were appreciating 
his receipt. I told him nothing could make me 
happy. I was up to my neck in disillusionment. 

He sees things in an odd light. 

“Oh, but that’s awfully imfair,” said he. 

I opened my eyes. 

“It’s always unfair to be disappointed when 
you’re disillusionized,” he continued in his mellow, 
drawling voice which never, never becomes ruffled. 
“ It’s your own fault if you have illusions, isn’t it? 
There’s no sense in being unhappy if you lose them. 
Whenever I’m disappointed at being disillusion- 
ized, I sit down and give myself a good drubbing. 
The badness in people is only a temporary thing 


TKe Merryman and His Maid 253 

like measles. It doesn’t belong to their system, 
and they want to be free of the beastly business 
as much as anyone.” 

“Yes, but when they’re satisfied with them- 
selves; when they think they are right?” said I. 

“Well, you can hardly blame them if they think 
they are right, can you?” said Jack Ford. 

“But you can be disillusionized,” said I as 
bitterly as I felt. “Supposing you’d looked up to 
some people as heroes, and then found they were 
tricksters, or one of them was; at least, there was 
every proof that he was ; and then, the one person 
you relied on, took his part, and tried to cover up 
the trick, by suggesting more tricks.” That was 
all Mr. Richard’s suggestions had amounted to. 

“Well, that’s where the test of life comes in,” 
said Jack Ford. “We’ve got to stick to our princi- 
ples, otherwise, what we think right, but it’s im- 
possible to blame other people for doing the same, 
and it’s idiotic to blame anyone, anyway. Leave 
’em alone, and they’ll come home.” 

“I like that, when you go and fight with the 
Suffragettes,” said I scornfully. “Why don’t you 
leave them alone?” 

“I did,” said Jack Ford. “That’s the trouble. 
I’m as miserable as you, at least I ought to be. In 


254 On tKe Fig'Hting' Line 

fact I ought to be much more so. You feel you 
were right ; but I feel I was wrong. I ought to be 
kicking myself every blessed minute; instead of 
winning all hearts by my grace in the Boliska. I 
ought to be remorseful; I am remorseful; there’s 
a certain satisfaction in blaming other people but 
there’s none in blaming oneself.” 

“I don’t agree with you. I’d far rather blame 
myself,” said I. 

“Well, do it then, blame yourself for being 
unmerciful,” said Jack Ford ingratiatingly. “And 
blame yourself for spoiling my evening when I need 
cheering up, and I’ve brought you to such a 
beautiful ball.” 

“I’m serious,” said I. 

“All right. I’ll take a hand at blaming you,” 
said he. “You’re a self-centred, over-emotional, 
ungrateful, expecting, unmerciful little bag- 
gage, about whom I am being disillusioned in 
chunks.” 

“ Oh, how unfair, ” I gasped. “ When you don’t 
know anything about me.” 

“Exactly,” said Jack Ford in mellow triumph. 
“None of us ever know anything about the people 
we’re disillusioned about. We just sit and judge 
them from the little snaps and peeps we get of 


THe Merryman and His Maid 255 

them. I bet the people you’re disillusioned about, 
are disillusioned about you.” 

They certainly were. I couldn’t deny that. 

“Unjustly, you would say,” continued Jack 
Ford. 

I wanted to cry. 

“And you’re pitying yourself immensely,” said 
he, possessed of a dissecting devil. 

I winked back the tears. 

“Which is the only certain proof that anyone 
can have of being utterly and unforgivably in the 
wrong,” said Jack Ford, who was looking away 
from me all the time, and talking on like a gramo- 
phone. “Directly you find yourself snivelling 
and feeling how right you are and how unjust 
and wrong other people are, and how lonely and 
misunderstood and generally, the Chosen of the 
Almighty you are, kick yourself and kick hard. 
You deserve it.” 

“I don’t see it at all,” I managed to say. I 
didn’t want to cry now. I should have liked to box 
his ears. 

“You know nothing of the circumstances,” said 
I. “I am used to being lonely and don’t expect 
anything else. And as for being misunderstood, I 
happen to have ideals and I stand up for them, 


256 On tKe FigKting Line 

and of course people who haven’t the same ideals 
misunderstand me, and find it inconvenient to 
have me near them. ” 

“That’s worse than feeling yourself misunder- 
stood,” said Jack Ford solemnly, as if he were a 
physician diagnosing a case. The cheek of it! 
“When you feel you have ideals and live up to 
them and are misunderstood because the people 
you’re with can’t live up to you, take yourself 
gently by the scruff of the neck and drop yourself 
into boiling oil for a minute or two, until you’ve 
sizzled some of that feeling out of you. It’s the 
only certain cure.” 

“I must put up with being called a prig,” said 
I, “and self-righteous.” I knew I had been right 
about that letter; I knew Mr. Richard and Mr. 
Grainge had been wrong. Jack Ford’s easy-going 
philosophy wasn’t going to shake me. But it was 
very uncomfortable to listen to. 

“I’m not calling you one, at all events,” said 
Jack Ford, seeing he had gone too far; “I was 
merely giving you the results of a long life of rich 
experience which may be of use to you in the far 
future. In the near future, what about supper?” 

I began to weaken or melt or something. He 
was such an absurd spectacle. 


THe Merryman and His Maid 257 

‘‘Well, don’t preach; I am really in a serious hole 
and awfully imhappy and what you say doesn’t 
apply to me, honestly,” said I. 

“I have given that advice to millions of people 
in my time,” said Jack Ford thoughtfully. “And 
it has never yet applied to one of the people I’ve 
given it to. Odd, isn’t it? Yet it’s awfully good 
advice.” 

“Well, I’m not so wretched as I was,” said I. 
“I know I ought to bear it more bravely.” 

Jack Ford shook his silly head. 

“I could talk for an hour on the frightful 
dangers of bearing things bravely,” said he. “It 
has such a swelling effect. I can see people swell 
under it. It either swells them or dwindles ’em. 
Some it carks, some it ” 

I jumped up. I had had enough of that sort of 
stuff. What business was it of his, to preach at me? 

“What about this supper?” said I. 

“The first sensible remark either of us has made 
in the last half-hour,” said Jack Ford. 

I can’t imagine any position in which he wouldn’t 
be perfectly natural and make one feel at home. 
With the sort of man that Mr. Richard is, one is 
always in difficult situations. Jack Ford is like 
a shaggy pony that can be depended on to the 


17 


258 On tKe FigKting Line 

crack of doom; Mr. Richard is like a fiery, nervous 
race-horse, magnificently swift and priceless but 
oh, a touch may send him swerving from you, a 
breath may hurt him. Glorious as he is, one’s 
heart is in one’s mouth all the time. I am dis- 
illusioned in one way, but in another, he is just as 
splendid as ever he was, and I am just as far away. 

A very practical issue presented itself in the 
supper-room. Everything to drink was charged 
for. And they had no cold water, only patent 
water in bottles. Neither of us had any money. 
Jack Ford was of course pocketless, and I had 
never thought about it. He said it would be all 
right; he would find some liquid food, and came in 
triumph with a plate of p^tes, which were creamy 
and delicious; only when we’d eaten them, we 
found they were thickly seasoned with cayenne. 
Jack Ford said his tongue was swelling, and would 
be hanging out of his mouth soon. 

He really is inventive. Suddenly he told me to 
follow him, in a very mysterious voice, and led me 
through corridors to the door of the gentlemen’s 
cloakroom. In here he disappeared, to emerge 
with a tumbler of tepid water. He had rushed in 
and said a lady outside was faint. We shared it 
thankfully, as well as we could for laughing. 


THe Merryman and His Maid 259 

And then he suggested going back and dancing. 

As we returned we came bang up against a glass. 
I had been watching the two extraordinary figures 
moving towards us, without realizing. I gripped 
Jack Ford’s arm and told him to stand still and 
take in what we looked like. 

Then I asked if he dared go back to the ball- 
room. 

Jack Ford said our costumes were miracles of 
ingenuity, but I could see he was shaken. In a 
minute or two, he wondered what time it was. 

I asked why he wouldn’t admit we looked 
scarecrows. 

He insisted then on returning to the ball room. 

But I could see he wasn’t as pleased with him- 
self as he had been. 

As we came in, we found the floor much emptier. 
I begged him not to dance again, but he tugged me 
in, and we banged up against a couple. I pulled 
him out. The girl was Carol. 

Jack Ford recognized her too. We stood and 
watched her whirl away. Her dress was supposed 
to be Eastern, I think. She wore a thin chemise, 
over a curious swathed garment, gold chiffon 
wound round and round her. A wisp of gold veil- 
ing hung from below her eyes, and swished about 


26 o On tKe FigKting I^ine 

as she danced. I couldn’t have believed anyone 
could have dared to come out like that. The wisp 
of veil and silken shift were such pretences at 
clothes. She hadn’t any jewels, except on her 
fingers and toes which were covered with sparkles. 
Yes, toes, for she wore sandals from which the 
golden stockings were cut away. Her hair hung 
in two thick plaits braided with gold. To-night 
her lips were palest pink, and her face was deli- 
cately white, like ivory. 

“ I suppose I ought to thank her for my ticket, ” 
said Jack Ford. 

Carol was very much engaged with the man 
she was dancing with. She didn’t look in our 
direction. 

“ If you want to stay and dance with her, I can 
go home all right; I’ve got to be up early, ” said I. 

The sight of Carol made me more ashamed of 
my idiotic get-up. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t dance with anyone like that,” 
said Jack Ford hastily. “But I think she’ll expect 
me to speak to her. I’ll wait till this dance is 
ended. ” 

She was coming our way again, looking up into 
her partner’s eyes with her childish appealing gaze. 
Jack Ford suddenly set back his shoulders. “No, 


THe Merry-man and His Maid 261 

I don’t think I will,” said he, and marshalled me 
round. We went out, running. I knew how he 
felt. If I had seen Mr. Richard, I would have 
dashed myself through the window or over the 
stair, anywhere rather than be recognized in that 
ridiculous get-up. For that matter, I didn’t want 
Carol to see me. 

We came out into the night air with the sensa- 
tion of having escaped disaster but we were not 
free yet. As we got outside the porch. Jack Ford 
remembered his cloak and my shawl. I couldn’t 
go back again. The most foolish fear of meeting 
Mr. Richard had surged up in me. All I would do 
was to wait against the wall with the chauffeurs 
and footmen till Jack Ford returned. The hall 
seemed like a trap. 

Jack Ford was a long time away. The cars 
rolled up and picked up their fragile, pretty loads 
and whirled them past me, and I looked into one 
luxurious brougham after another, filled with the 
diaphanous creatures I had watched all evening. 
They had been displayed and admired and now 
they were carefully packed up and sent back to 
their soft nests. 

And then a particularly smart and noiseless car 
drew up and Carol fluttered into it, attended by a 


262 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

hard-faced bediamonded woman whom I suppose 
was Mrs. Grainge. She had all Carol's self-pos- 
session and conquering air, only she wasn't attrac- 
tive with it. I got back against the wall, as far as 
I could. The car had to pass me. Carol was 
leaning back, a faint smile playing about her lips, 
and her eyes large and melting as if she were still 
talking to someone in imagination. Mrs. Grainge 
sat back with a tired, disagreeable look, and as they 
passed I saw her rap out something sharp to Carol 
who had evidently annoyed her about something. 
I just caught sight of Carol's delicate eyebrows 
lifting and her smile fading. Then they vanished 
into the road. 

I preferred to be myself, herding with the 
serving-men but free and out in the open air. 
When Jack Ford came up, I caught hold of his 
arm, and it was my turn now to hurry him along. 
I longed to get out of the noise and whirl into 
big spaces where I could cry out my pain till it 
was eased ; it was packed up in me now, churning 
and tearing me about. 

When I said I didn’t want to go in just yet, he 
seemed to understand, and hurried with me, atoms 
that we were, like prowling, furtive cats slinking 
past dark areas unwanted and unnoticed. I had 


THe Merryman and His Maid 263 

never realized where I stood, beside the women Mr. 
Richard was used to. 

When we got onto the Embankment we leaned 
over the parapet, and the dark waters moved by 
in a sombre mass and the buildings rose up in dark 
formless blocks against the sky, and I felt blotted 
out like them, part of the great gloomy shadow- 
city. We hadn’t said a single word, but he was 
something to hang on to. Something to cry out to, 
when the pain grew too much to bear. He hadn’t 
appointments waiting; he could stay as long as I 
wanted to. 

All the time I kept seeing that delicate, pale 
face with the satin-soft lips, the eyes that could 
look dewy or mischievous or mocking just as she 
pleased, the shm form rippling like flowing water 
under the stuffs that scarcely covered it, the 
preciousness of the tiny hands and feet. 

And there were hundreds like her, soft and 
tender and delicate, perfumed and tinted and 
tended till no flaw could be found, sheathed in the 
finest fabrics that mankind could make. These 
beautiful girls looked healthy, as if they could play 
games and were used to the open air. They looked 
happy too, as if they enjoyed the good time they 
lived to have. And the money that girls such as 


264 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

Miss Heckles and Miss Patten and I worked all 
day to bring into the coffers of the Alliance went 
very largely to support girls like Carol and convert 
her into the superfine treasure she was. And I 
worked all day for Mr. Richard, and caught 
glimpses of him in unfrequent moments though 
we loved each other ; and the rest of his free time 
he spent in the world which these girls filled and 
made amusing. When Miss Patten made eyes at 
a man, she looked cheap and silly; when Carol 
glanced at Mr. Richard in the same sort of way, 
she looked intoxicating. What did she call herself? 
Heady. And the profits from the work we con- 
tributed to, went to make her heady and keep 
her heady for the men we worked with. 

The air grew fresher and fresher and a little 
chill wind moaned somewhere, but I had to have 
it out with myself in the open. The great rushing 
waters told me it didn't matter, there was some- 
thing greater than Carol. But oh, she seemed so 
impregnable and I so rubbishy and helpless. 

Jack Ford is a wonderful friend. When he 
asked if I were cold, I said I couldn't go in yet, 
and he didn't object, only offered part of his cloak. 
I was so miserable I had to have some comfort and 
I burst out with the wish that nobody was fasci- 


TKe Merryman and His Maid 265 

nating. He asked why and I said because they 
were so difficult to keep. He said fascinating 
people could only be taken away from you because 
they didn't really belong to you, and they were 
surely caught and kept by people who did belong 
to them; that is, who weren’t fascinated by them, 
but could tell them the truth. He added, in a voice 
that was meant to be kind, “Like you and me.” 

“We’re not fascinating,” said I. 

“Not to each other, but with some people, 
my word!” said he. “You don’t know what a 
relief it is to know you. I feel I can say anything 
I like without making the slightest effect. So few 
women understand you mean nothing, that is, 
nothing they expect you to mean. ” 

“I don’t fascinate people,” said I. “I wish I 
did.” 

I wasn’t in the mood for concealing anything. 

“ Ah, that coldness would be very fascinating 
to some people, ” said he. “ I’m so infernally lazy, 
that I must say I like a woman to do it all with me, 
and expect nothing for it, but some men like 
trouble. For a man who wanted hard labour, I 
should say you would be a little gold mine.” 

“Do you call me hard?” said I. And then 
somehow it all came out in a flood. 


266 On tHe FigHting Line 

Some women did it all, and had it all to do it 
with; all the beauty and ease and comfort and 
charm and delicacy and daintiness that win men’s 
love ; and some women, millions of them, had to 
slave all day and live up to their highest every min- 
ute to produce the wealth that gave the soft women 
everything that made life worth living. Then we 
were compared with the women that did nothing, 
and called hard. I was crying like an idiot at the 
end and gripping on to Jack Ford for all I was 
worth. I had to be comforted. He didn’t soothe 
me. He flung a great stirring truth to me, and I 
caught hold of it and my self-respect stood up 
again. 

He didn’t say, '' Poor little girl ” ; but “ You little 
fool.” 

Then he said: “You’re on the fighting line and 
you’re getting the full force of the charge just now, 
Minette, but those of you who are out, can fight, 
and you know what it is you’re fighting and 
you’re getting used to it, and wiser, and less 
easily rushed every day you come into action. 
The women you talk of are shut up in a fort that’s 
undermined ; and women like Carol know it’s imder- 
mined and they’re drugging themselves and dancing 
themselves into oblivion of the fact, but every day 


THe Merryman and His Maid 267 

they find it harder to do so, and the fear grows 
stronger. They’re afraid because every day of the 
life they lead makes them softer and weaker and 
the idea of being thrown out into the din and 
noise and discomfort and dangers of the firing line 
makes them scramble like wild cats for the stuff 
that means life to them — men with money. There 
never was a time in the whole world’s history where 
the kept women are fighting to be kept, as they are 
to-day. They come out half -stripped ; they stop 
at nothing to excite the men they want; they’re 
flinging every restraint behind them ; it’s a scramble 
that’s getting fiercer and more brazen and more 
shameless because it’s a scramble in a losing game. 
We can’t afford them, and the world is waking up 
to the fact, and they’ve got to be pitch-forked out 
of their rotten, hot-pressed nests and made to toe 
the line. The fort is built of out-worn ideals that 
are straining and creaking at every ricketty joint; 
the walls are shaking and quivering when they’re 
touched, and the floor rocks beneath them, whether 
the women call themselves wives or mothers or 
ladies. It’s the feeling you have in an earthquake 
when everything that was solid begins to move, 
and you feel there’s only thin air between you and 
a bottomless abyss. That’s where the soft women 


268 On tKe FigHting Line 

are getting to; and that’s why I’ve got my hand 
held out to Carol, and please God I’ll pull her 
out.” 

“Do you mean you wouldn’t have her just as 
attractive and well-kept as she is?” said I. 

“Oh, Minette, sometimes I see the rottenness of 
it all, ” said Jack Ford in a sort of groan. “Those 
women are going to be known for what they are, 
they’ve got to be stripped naked, the lies and 
the lures and poodles’ tricks have got to be seen. 
They’ve souls somewhere as much as you or me, 
and we’ve got to be patient till something besides 
lust looks out of them. Trouble is we’re only 
human ourselves and when we want to help, we’re 
so often caught, and they know we’re not honest 
and like the stuff they’re offering us although in a 
way we know its rottenness.” 

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t like it,” said I. 
“Beauty is something worth having. Love is 
something worth having. Here I am with you, 
alone, wrapped up in your cloak close by you, and 
I might be a block of wood. There’s nothing in 
me to make any man like me, as you do Carol. 
I’m something you respect and want true things 
from, and I want the other things — the things that 
make women happy.” 


TKe Merryman and His Maid 269 

“They don’t make women happy in the long 
nm,” said Jack Ford staring across the river. 

“They do and I want them,” said I. “I want 
to be cared for when I’m not there, I want to be 
cared for so that men will do things for me.” 

All the nights when Mr. Richard could have 
come to see me, and didn’t come; all the week ends 
he spent with other people, were rising up. 

“Do you know why I came back from that 
miserable fight?” said Jack Ford; and for all 
my wretchedness, a pang of sheer wonder shot 
through. “I broke my word, I failed in what I’d 
promised, I went back on them and myself and the 
whole business of shoving on peace and happiness 
and justice for the world, just because I was 
thinking of you and wanting to keep in touch. I 
daren’t be shut up and leave you on the fighting 
line, and I was nicely paid out. You’d have liked 
to have cut me up in little bits that night, wouldn’t 
you, because you were expecting someone else. 
Instead of helping to open the way for thousands 
like you, I didn’t do anything for you but look a 
fool to you. You’re sobbing your heart out now 
for another man and you’re angry because I don’t 
give you a soothing syrup, pet, and flatter you. 
You’ll never get that from me. I know what 


270 On tHe Fig'Htin^ Line 

Carol’s after and so does she, and sometimes I help 
her and sometimes I don’t. But you have set up 
to be out after something else ; you’ve set up to be 
honest. After to-night, it’ll be so much harder 
to believe women are ever going to climb out. 
Before to-night you made it easier for me to think 
so.” 

“ I don’t want anything from you, ” said I. For 
all the shame, what he said was wholesome. It 
was a sharp douche smack in my face but it braced 
me. 

“Beloved neighbour, I know you don’t and 
that’s why I don’t give it you,” said Jack Ford 
with a great sigh, as if something were conquered. 
I suppose he was glad I had stopped being silly. 
But his face looked strange. 

“And I don’t see why women should be sup- 
posed to have all the responsibility for leading 
you on,” said I. It was pleasanter now we were 
arguing again. Yes, the worst was over, thanks to 
Jack Ford’s plain words. 

“You all want something given to you,” said 
Jack Ford. “You’ve all got to get off wanting to 
be on the free list ; instead of gloating when you’re 
on it, or envying those who are, you’ve got to see 
the free list as a big disgrace. ” 


THe Merryman and His Maid 271 

“Eve gave Adam her apple,’' said I. 

“Hit it in once,” said Jack Ford. “Gave him 
a taste of what he didn’t need, shouldn’t have 
had, and lost him his job because he tasted. 
Oh, Minette, you’ve said it very clear and plain.” 

“And whenever Carol offers you anything you’d 
take it,” said I bitterly. 

“Carol is a fascinating person,” said Jack Ford. 
“She is partly an angel, partly a seer, and partly 
a child.” 

“I know someone like that only he’s a man,” 
said I. Mr. Richard isn’t as clever as Carol, but 
he’s quite as fascinating. 

“ My beloved neighbour, I am aware of it, ” said 
Jack Ford. 

“ Some day I’ll tell you about him,” said I. 

“I don’t want to know,” said Jack Ford. “I 
never like hearing other people’s love affairs ; they 
are always angry when you sympathize, angry 
afterwards, you know, when they’ve made it up 
again.” 

“ I shouldn’t come to you for sympathy, ” said I. 

“You won’t take my advice,” said he. 

“Because I don’t need any advice,” said I. 

“Then why do you want to tell me about him?” 
said Jack Ford. 


272 On tKe FigHting Line 

“Because I like talking about him when I can’t 
be with him,” said I. I was perfectly shameless. 
I wanted to hit Jack Ford. If he is in love with 
Carol, I am in love with Mr. Richard. Really and 
truly in love. He shall realize it. 

I think he did. 

“My beloved neighbour, I am far more per- 
spicacious than you imagine,” said he. “Tell me, 
if you must let off steam or burst. But I know 
you’ll be sorry after. Women always are. And I 
attach great importance to keeping you for a 
friend.” 

“Why?” said I. It was natural to feel cheered 
by such a remark. 

“Because of our geographical position,” said 
Jack Ford. “I’ve often thought how handy it 
would be to have a woman near to do little things ; 
you know the sort of things only a woman can 
do, tying a dress tie, and cooking little dishes 
when you’re ill. Let us agree not to confide 
in one another. Then we can keep our breaking 
hearts for the world outside, and be really useful 
to each other; we will be cheerful friends, eh? 
Bright spots in each other’s lives? Little rays of 
sunshine!” 

He was rotting, but he was so jolly. 


TKe Merryman and His Maid 273 

“I’d like to be that, and you are that already, ” 
said I. 

“No, am I?” said Jack Ford, awfully pleased. 
It was nice to have someone to go upstairs with. 


CHAPTER XIII 


THE COTTAGE IN THE WOOD 

May 2istj Friday night. 

1\ yi R. RICHARD hasn’t written. I wired to the 
^ office yesterday. I expect he will be angry. 
But he has no right to torture me like this. To 
think he is in the same building all the day; to 
think I have only to go downstairs, turn the handle 
of a door, and walk in to him ; and yet he might as 
well be at the South Pole. There is no shadow of 
an excuse that can take me to him. When I am 
with Mr. Grainge, I can even hear his voice some- 
times, through the partition. And yet I can’t get 
to him. 

Yesterday I caught sight of his back, as he was 
going out. I was with the girls. I could have 
overtaken him if I had run after him, but I dare 
not do it. Then I had the idea to wire him. I 
said I must see him that evening. But he didn’t 
come; he hasn’t even answered. He is killing me. 

274 


TKe Cottage in tHe Wood 275 

If he has done with me for acting as I did, he 
ought to tell me so. And I have to tell him about 
the second cheque; I have to tell him so much. If 
he heard my case now, he could not say I had 
acted wrongly. It's in a time like this that love 
is most worth having; if he were suffering and I 
could go to him 

Sometimes I ask myself if our love has ever 
been ; it has proved so unsubstantial, now a test 
has come. 

I could bear anything at the office if Mr. Richard 
would forgive me and be himself again. 

The more I think of the whole business, the 
more confused I grow. Sometimes I wonder if 
I ought to have obeyed Mr. Grainge and Mr. 
Richard because they are my superior officers; in 
an army, soldiers must obey, whatever orders 
are given. But I love the Alliance; it stands 
for all that is true and noble, and surely it is my 
business to see that no misstatements go out 
from this office? If I had thought Mr. Grainge 
had deliberately tom up that cheque at first, I 
might have obeyed, but that never occurred to me. 
I thought he had honestly made a mistake. I 
sometimes wonder if he had, and if my suspicion is 
entirely baseless. Oh, if I could only know the 


276 On tHe FigHting Line 

truth. But I can’t help remembering the number 
I telephoned to the Bank. There, I am at it again. 
I have vowed I will not think of it. I must think 
of something helpful. 

What a friend Jack Ford has been this week! 
He knows something is up. Well, I told him I was 
desperate. I had to excuse myself for walking 
into his room last night, but if I had stayed alone, 
I should have beaten my head against the wall or 
something. Doesn’t a man realize what a woman 
feels when she is waiting, waiting — with no word 
to say if he is coming. He might have wired he 
couldn’t come. 

It was half -past ten ; I could not stay alone. 

Jack Ford is nice. He welcomed me as if I had 
done nothing unusual in coming. I asked him to 
leave the door open so that I could hear anyone 
on the stairs, and he took that as if it were quite 
ordinary to be expecting callers at that time of 
night. When I told him I was desperate with 
being by myself, he said he knew the feeling ex- 
actly, and I must always knock him up when I 
wanted a human voice as he was always ready to 
talk, night and day. That was his one weak spot. 

But when I got there, I found I didn’t want to 
talk. 


TKe Cottage in tKe Wood 277 

It was a perfect night ; a tiny wind puffed softly 
in the curtains at the open window, the roar of 
London sounded far away, sweet spring odours 
came from a jar of gillifiowers, and the shaded 
reading-lamp cast a circle of light where he had 
been writing. The room was full of shadow, and 
Jack Ford sprawled on the sofa at my service. But 
I was listening all the time for the stairs to creak. 

Jack Ford broke the silence by pulling himself 
up and beginning to walk up and down, up and 
down, with his hands behind him. Then he 
brought himself up on his heels and balanced on 
them. 

‘*Look here, why should we be unhappy?*’ said 
he. “It’s such a mug’s game. Couldn’t we do 
something about it? We are two sane people, 
aren’t we, with control over our thinking pro- 
cesses? Very well, let’s be happy; let’s insist on 
it. Don’t let’s allow ourselves to be so blue. You 
stop me, and I’ll stop you.” 

“Are you unhappy?” said I and he nodded. 

“ It’s this beastly weather, ” said he. “ It seems 
such a waste. When one fine night after another 
comes along, it makes me hate pavements and 
rooms, and I want to get away and I hate Batter- 
sea. Not that it’s only the weather. It’s general 


278 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

all-overishness — nerves. I get the jimjams wonder- 
ing if I’m ever going to do anything worth while; 
if I’ve got it in me; if I’m hopelessly banal and 
haven’t two intelligent ideas in my noddle. Am I 
worth anything as a man or a writer? Ought I to 
lead myself to the bridge and say good-bye to the 
quiet stars, and so forth. You cannot imagine the 
horror of publishing your first book and getting 
no reviews.” 

“Is your book out?” said I. 

“Monday, and I haven’t heard a word from 
anyone,” said Jack Ford. “ If I got some slashing 
criticisms, that would at least tell me where I 

stood, but to have nothing — ^nothing ” 

“ Oh, I know, ” said I. “ Have you a copy here? ” 
“Well as a matter-of-fact I don’t want you to 
read it ; not this one ; you shall see the next if there 
ever is one,” said Jack Ford becoming rather red. 
“ I didn’t mean to speak of it. I am an ass. ” 

“ It’s all right; I shan’t think of it again,” said I. 
“ I’m not reaUy very interested. ” 

“That’s the devil of it, ” said Jack Ford ruefully. 
“No one appears to be. Do for heaven’s sake, 
talk to me of someone else or something or I shall 
drop myself out of the window.” 

“ I don’t want to talk of myself, ” said I. “You 


XHe Cottage in tKe Wood 279 

go on talking to me. Will it be serious if this book 
doesn’t sell?” 

” Oh, I never expected it to sell,” said Jack Ford. 
^‘It’s a little venture of my own, to get known.” 

I stared at him. Books can’t be published with- 
out money. I had taken it for granted Jack Ford 
had nothing, somehow. 

He saw what I was thinking. 

^‘Oh, it’s not the money, it’s only my self- 
respect,” he explained. “You see before you a 
black sheep, who has left the paths of pleasantness 
in the bosom of a solidly upholstered family ” 

“You don’t mean you have a family?” I cried. 
Of course I had thought of Jack Ford as alone. 

“Ship owners. The Durham Fords; eldest son. 
There’s the tragedy,” said he. “Too soft-hearted 
parents to disinherit me, parental welcome wait- 
ing directly I leave my husks. Turned my back 
on the whole blooming lot of them for Litera- 
ture, and now, am I any good? Does pubhcation 
in three weeklies and one never-to-be-forgotten 
monthly constitute a guarantee that I am worth 
something? Or have I made an immense mistake? 
Not that I’ll ever return to the family bosom. 
Three hundred a year and freedom is all I want, 
as far as daily bread’s concerned, and Thank God, 


28 o On tHe FigKting Line 

I’ve got that. But is it sheer waste of time shut- 
ting myself up here all day to scribble, and had I 
better save my postage stamps and go abroad and 
enjoy myself?” 

“How can I tell unless I’ve read your work, 
although I shouldn’t know even then,” said I. 
“The only proof is success.” 

“Oh, pardon me, that’s the perplexing part of 
it, ” said Jack Ford. “ Look at Stevenson, and the 
De Goncourts, and stacks and stacks of men. 
Nearly every one of the leading men to-day have 
ground the bread of bitterness to ashes for years 
and years before they suddenly romped home. 
And then, on the other hand, thousands are left at 
the post, during this life, anyway.” 

“My father was,” said I. 

“Did he write?” said Jack Ford. 

“ Poetry, ” said I. “ I’ve got a tin box full of it. 
He couldn’t sell it. I should say it was waste of 
time myself, to write things unless they sell.” 

“Now look here, I want cheering,” said Jack 
Ford argumentatively. “You’re as bad as my 
aunt. She’s one of those practical women who 
can’t see anything in front of them except results. 
She says I ought to get out more and push myself, 
win all hearts by my wit and humour, make myself 


TKe Cottage in tHe "Wood 281 

pleasant to editors; has offered to give dinner- 
parties if I’ll come out of my shell and have a 
decent address. But I shouldn’t have thought 
you’d be like that. ” 

“I’m not,” said I. “I don’t know anything 
about how people do get on, I only know it’s 
wretched when they don’t, and I advise you to 
chuck it, if you don’t get on.” 

“Well, the last thing I should have expected you 
to be, is a coward,” said Jack Ford. 

Even in my misery, he was able to make me 
furious. 

“I shouldn’t ever give in, if I knew I was right, 
but you don’t know you are right, or you wouldn’t 
be asking my advice,” said I. 

“Do you mean to say you always know when 
you are right?” said he. 

“Of course,” said I. 

“You know what self-righteousness is, don’t 
you?” said Jack Ford, wagging his silly head. 
“Thinking yourself always right.” 

“I know I’m right in what I’m doing now 
and I won’t let you shake me,” said I; it 
was a cry of misery. He did shake me, in 
my foundations. The only comfort I had, was 


282 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

knowing I was right. And sometimes I wasn’t 
sure of even that. 

“ Beloved Minette, I didn’t want to shake you, ” 
said Jack Ford. “ Here, I’ve blown off to you and 
feel better; now you blow off to me.” 

His voice can be so kind. 

I choked back my tears. 

^‘It’s no use,” said I. ‘‘Besides, I don’t want 
anyone to know. It isn’t only to do with me. 
You will say I have no business to expect people 
to be honourable, and I still differ from you. I 
ought to expect people to be honourable, and I 
ought to be disappointed when they’re not. And 
I must go on trying to do what is right, myself. 
I know it’s right to be honourable.” 

‘‘Yes, and ain’t it dashed hard to be it, too,” 
said Jack Ford scratching his head, like an ashamed 
small boy. 

I nodded ; I couldn’t speak. 

I wanted to pour it all out, but I knew it 
wouldn’t be honourable to tell a soul. 

‘‘Look here, you give me some advice on quite 
another subject,” said Jack Ford squatting down 
again. ‘‘ Supposing a man was partly in love with 
two women, would it be honourable for him to go 
on finding more and more about each, getting to 


THe Cottage in tHe Wood 283 

know both of them better and better, so that he 
could make up his mind?” 

“I don’t see what else anyone sensible could 
do,” said I, startled at the extraordinary turn of 
the conversation, and not seeing then that "die 
question was only to make me think of something 
else. Bless him. He is a comfort. 

“Yes, but suppose the women began to feel 
things to the man?” said Jack Ford with his 
funny, sheepish grin. 

“ I should just call him a rotter, ” said I, chang- 
ing my mind. “If he didn’t know his own mind, 
he couldn’t be the sort of man who could care very 
deeply. When one is really in love, of course one 
knows.” 

“But people do fall in love with more than one 
person, ” argued Jack Ford, scratching his head rue- 
fully. “ I don’t see that it’s anything against a man 
to fall in love with two women simultaneously ; or 
rather, to fall out of love with one woman gradually, 
while he was falling in love with Number Two.” 

“ Oh, I hate the way in which you speak of such 
things,” I flamed. “You haven’t any conception 
of what real love is like. When one loves there 
isn’t anyone else in the world, not at the time nor 
ever after.” 


284 On tKe FigKting Line 

“You admit there can be an afterwards, 
though,** murmured Jack Ford. 

“I meant, if the person you love gets tired and 
leaves you,** said I. “But even in that case, 
never, never could there be anyone else. Not if 
you*d really loved.** 

“Well, I don*t believe falling in love is ever as 
neat a job as that with anyone,** said Jack Ford, 
quite calm and even jolly. “ It*s a mixed up busi- 
ness. One day, one girl seems the ticket, and 
another day, or evening, you’re placed in romantic 
circumstances with someone else, and you feel, 
well, after all, this sort of girl is much more worth 
while, hang it all, what a fool I am to dance round 
after the other; and the next day, you’re dancing 
after the other again.” 

I could have hit him; for of course I thought of 
Carol. But Mr. Richard isn’t like that. Although 
— oh dear — in my heart, I know he is. 

“Do you call this cheering for me?” I asked 
bitterly. 

“No, and it was awfully silly of me to ask, 
because I might have known how conventional 
women always are when they talk about such 
things, ** said Jack Ford philosophically. “ Directly 
you mention love to a girl, whirroo, whirroo, off she 


THe Cottage in tKe Wood 285 

goes to the skies, though she may be doing exactly 
what you’re talking about, herself. There’s no 
honesty in women. I do try and find out the truth 
about myself, though I admit it’s a most muddling 
process. Of course I get emotions in which I can 
feel all you feel and more. But, I like to reason 
with myself in the morning, about eleven- thirty. 
It was absolute madness to introduce the topic 
on a night like this. Everyone feels capable of 
loving anyone for ever on a May evening.” 

“Well, I didn’t introduce it,” said I, and then I 
saw his funny, laughing face, as genial and friendly 
now as ever, and I began to smile. It was so 
ridiculous for Jack Ford to be worrying himself 
about love. 

“ I wish I were you, ” said I. 

“My dear girl it’s a most awful position to be 
in. I don’t enjoy feeling a cad, and sometimes I 
have an awful suspicion that I am one,” said he. 
“Women feel these things more deeply than men. 
We have no right to experiment. We ought to 
warn them more plainly than we do. ” 

Suddenly I began to laugh. To think of Jack 
Ford feeling it necessary to warn fascinating 
women like Carol not to fall in love with him. 
Poor Jack Ford. 


286 On tHe FigHting Line 

“You’re a goose,” said I. “Don’t keep awake 
over your fatal fascinations. You can be as 
friendly with a woman as you like, you’re not the 
sort of man who can make women miserable. You 
make them happy. ” 

“Isn’t our idea of love a travesty?” said Jack 
Ford. “All the same, you are very annoying.” 

“Nonsense,” said I. “Just for this minute, 
you’ve made me feel much better. Look here, I 
want to do something for you. To-morrow after- 
noon may I fetch all your pans, and clean them 
really well?” 

“I shall be out. I’m afraid,” said he. 

“Bring them in before you go,” said I. “I 
can’t tell you what it will mean to have something 
I’ve got to rub at hard. Do let me.” 

“ Of course I will, ” said Jack Ford. “ I was just 
thinking I should really have to have a woman up. 
I’ll tell you what. I’ll leave my door open, and 
you can turn out my room if you like.” 

Saturday night. 

When I look back — oh, when I look back ! 

And yet, when I look forward 

Well, I have forgiven Mr. Richard, and he has 
owned he had nothing to forgive me for. 


THe Cottage in tKe Wood 287 

But — that everything should be settled 

I had given up all hope of seeing him; he had 
said he would never come to my room again. 
I was black, not only my hands but there were 
smuts on my face. My hair was half down. I 
had on my old blouse. The room was thick with 
saucepans. And then his message came. 

I love the way he summons me to meet him, as 
if there can be no question of my flying to all ends 
of the earth, if he commands. Jack Ford’s pans 
were left to their native grime. I was at the 
Museum actually in the appointed place — the 
embroidery gallery — on time. It wouldn’t have 
been natural if he had been waiting. I found the 
Egyptian cases and began to study them, to keep 
from watching too anxiously. Somehow, I knew 
Mr. Richard would despise me a little if he found 
me standing, waiting, anxiously. So I tried to be 
interested in those wonderful shreds of woven and 
embroidered stuffs, tried to think back thousands 
of years to the long hot days when the women sat 
and worked the waiting hours into stitches. How 
beautifully they worked then! I was drawn on 
from case to case, I had never been here before and 
never realised what needlework could be. Pres- 
ently I found myself in the German section, or the 


288 On tHe FigHting Line 

English section, the work was mixed up together, 
but there were embroidered towels and table- 
cloths and curtains and bedspreads that gave me 
a craving for a lovely home. For the moment, I 
too, possessed long days in which there was 
nothing to do but sew beautiful stitches on 
beautiful household things. The cases breathed 
of leisure and calm activity and abundance of all 
that was good and easeful in the daily round ; they 
made me want to be a housewife and put my whole 
soul into a home, instead of the shreds and scrimps 
of time and thought I have to spare after the 
office day. Something in me seemed to rise up, 
homesick. 

I stood before a bedspread worked with flowers, 
each different, and every spray a miracle of colour 
and stitches, and I felt as when I stand upon 
the river bridges; something cramped inside me 
stretches out, and I’m released from being ground 
up in a machine. To think that anyone had had 
the time to do it. How beautiful life could be if we 
had endless time in which to live ! The calm and 
ease of embroidered towels! Washing would be 
a luxurious delight if one dared use soft, fine 
damask exquisitely fringed with great initials in 
scarlet cross-stitch and flowers festooned about 


THe Cottage in tHe Wood 289 

them. Meals on embroidered table-linen would 
have to be leisured. The sight of the small, even 
stitches would soothe the most hurried diner; I 
love to think 6f luxury like that. Only it seems 
impossible to think of it for oneself. 

As I wandered along, I marvelled at the work 
that women had done. From time immemorial 
they have brought out the beauty of homely daily 
acts, and made flowers spring up round the 
minutiae of daily living. The necessary daily life 
becomes so irksome when one is in an office all 
day. Yet this work hadn’t been done by idle 
people. Through the ages women have worked 
hard to make homes for their menkind; by un- 
remitting work alone, they’ve made the shelter 
from the strain and tedium and ugliness of city 
offices. London became small as I thought of all 
the women and the homes that were and ever had 
been. The traffic, the adding up of figures, the 
buying and selling ceased to be all-important, 
looking at this tiny rivulet from the steady flow of 
centuries. Stealing through the earth and stones 
and dust, women’s work has made flowers bloom 
everywhere. What a desert life would be if homes 
were only made and kept by men! Jack Ford’s 
rooms are a good example. 


19 


290 On tKe Fi^Kting Line 

When Mr. Richard touched me on the shoulder, 
I was hopelessly domestic. The Alliance was a 
great vulture, plucking me from my natural 
happiness. It is funny how these instincts waken, 
and stir, and twist us about. IVe despised Miss 
Patten for caring so much about domestic things, 
but in my heart. I’m as bad. 

The awful thing is, I can understand now women 
selling themselves for a home to fuss with; I feel 
as if I’ve done that myself, in a measure, to-day. 

I’m not wholly happy about it, as I ought to be. 

Mr. Richard asked what on earth I was looking 
at; he said my back looked like a child’s at a 
sweetshop. I said that was a bit how I felt. I 
wanted to break into all the cases and take the 
lovely things home and copy them. I wanted to 
fringe towels and knot them and work them, and 
embroider napkins with flourishing letters, and 
work curtains in silks all over, and decorate 
everything I had on. I had a perfect needle mad- 
ness, and as one person could never do all I wanted 
to, in a lifetime, I was thirsting for maidens to sit 
around me, in an afternoon, and be given all the 
dull parts to do. 

Mr. Richard stared down at me as if I were mad, 
but I felt reckless. The something inside me was 


THe Cottage in tHe Wood 291 

clamouring so loudly for a home and a needle and 
lots of time. It was such a pretty easy way of 
living. I was tired of struggling with the office- 
wheels and the great power that drove them. 

^‘Well, you always take the wind out of my 
sails, said Mr., Richard looking down with his 
puzzled, doubtful frown. “Now, how can I scold 
you? What have you been doing to yourself to 
look so pretty and pathetic?” 

I’d been eating my heart out for him, but I 
wasn’t going to be silly enough to tell him so. 
I’m learning how to manage Mr. Richard. I 
mustn’t let him know he matters to me; I hate 
pretence, but one has to do it. 

I said I wanted coloured silks too badly to think 
of anything else that moment; and tiny dolls’ 
needles. I showed him a bluebell and asked if he 
thought it possible that human hands had worked 
it. I said I should like a dress worked from top to 
bottom, powdered with little flowers. 

Mr. Richard said he would carry me off to a 
cottage in a wood and give me everything I 
wanted — bluebells and all; he could talk to me 
now. If I’d only be good, I could have everything 
I was wanting, and the only condition would be 
that I must take him with them. 


292 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

He had never spoken to me quite in that way 
before. He always avoided the future, but now 
he was ready to promise things. There was 
something desperate about him; and I saw in his 
eyes that I was pleasing and surprising him. I felt 
surer of him than I have ever done. 

“ I thought you were going to be angry, '' said I. 

“So did I,” said he. “But I thought you were 
going to be on the high horse, you see, instead of in 
a work-basket. I never knew you could fit into a 
work-basket. That’s always where a man wants 
a woman to be if he cares for her. Now I’ve found 
you in it, I’m knocked silly and I can’t bully you. 
I want to go and find the biggest and comfiest 
work-basket of the most extra-special kind and 
put you into it. Look here, do make me talk sense 
or I shall kiss you. ” 

I didn’t want to talk sense and quarrel and 
argue ; it was heaven to feel him looking at me and 
loving me again. 

So I pretended to be more taken up with the 
needlework than anything in the whole wide world. 
And moved on to another case, as if he wasn’t 
there. 

“I really shall kiss you,” said he, behind me. 

“Nonsense, you’ve come to bully me because of 


XKe Cottage in tHe Wood 293 

the Alliance,” said I. ‘^Do for goodness' sake get 
it over, while IVe something interesting to look 
at. Did ever you see such a darling, darling 
little cap?” 

“ It's a baby's cap, ” said Mr. Richard in a funny 
voice. ‘‘Should you like to make those?” 

He must have seen the colour; it was round the 
back of my neck. 

‘‘ I mean every word I say, ” said he. “ Will you 
leave the office and let me find a cottage in a 
wood?” 

Leave the Alliance! I was going to leave, now, 
anyway. But I thought I was going to leave Mr. 
Richard too. And now — now 

“Hasn't Sir Mordaunt told you, then?” said I. 

“My father?” said Mr. Richard. 

“ I am dismissed, ” said I. “At least, I am to be 
dismissed when the mail-bags turn up. Mr. 
Grainge has demanded an apology. I can't give 
it him till I know the truth, so I'm to stay till I 
do know, or Mr. Grainge gets tired of waiting. 
That's what I wanted to tell you. ” 

“You are going, then,” said Mr. Richard. He 
was relieved. I turned round. There was nothing 
but a big relief in his voice and face. 

“Why do you want me to go?” said I. 


294 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

I could see Mr. Richard hesitating, to see if he 
could tell me anything more convenient than the 
truth; and I could see him decide that truth met 
the situation better than anything else. 

“Grainge suspects,” said he. “I told you he 
was precious sharp. And that fool Benson took 
in your wire to him; I was out. What possessed 
you to send it? Of course he doesn’t know who 
Jasmine is, but he’d know you had something 
urgent to see me about if he was sharp enough to 
put two and two together, and he certainly is. 
I knew he suspected something when he put 
Benson in my room. But now, the cat’s out, 
and the only way to dodge them, is for you to 
go. Thank goodness, this rumpus gives us a 
clear lead out.” 

“But won’t your father mind more because of 
it?” said I. 

“He can’t possibly suspect you’re coming to 
me, ” said Mr. Richard. “After this fuss your going 
will be the most natural thing in the world, and 
when you’re gone, how can they know anything 
about you? What business is it of anyone’s 
then?” 

“ But you’re mad. Your father will think it his 
business to know all about the person you’re 


THe Cottage in tHe "Wood 295 

engaged to, if you — we — if we are going to marry 
and have a cottage in a wood, said I. I couldn’t 
help blushing stupidly, even though Mr. Richard 
had proposed it. 

Mr. Richard went crimson too. For the mo- 
ment, we couldn’t say anything. I felt the glass 
case cold against my shoulders and foimd I was 
leaning against it. Had I mistaken his meaning? 
For he was silent. Yet how could he have meant 
anything else? People couldn’t joke about such 
things. 

He had meant it; but not as I hoped. I can see 
his point; it would be impossible for him; but oh, 
I don’t like secrecy. 

couldn’t possibly say anything to him yet,” 
said he. “It’s a question of bread and butter. 
When I’m independent of him, that’s a different 
thing; but he can’t know; there’d be the most 
unholy row if my people guessed we were — 
friends ” 

It was impossible to go on like this, without 
knowing exactly what he meant. He had asked 
me to leave the office; he had promised to look 
after me ; we were not friends ; it was absurd to talk 
as if we were. I couldn’t let him go away with 
everything indefinite. It was all very well for him ; 


296 On tHe FigKting Line 

he knew what he meant, but I didn’t. And at 
a time like this, I had to know. 

“We couldn’t have a cottage in the wood if we 
were friends,” said I. 

“It would be rather uncomfortable having one 
if we were enemies,” said Mr. Richard quickly, 
trying to laugh. 

“And I wouldn’t give up my job; you wouldn’t 
ask anyone to do that unless — Mr. Richard, you 
mustn’t fool with me, what do you mean, are you 
just fooling?” said I. 

For there was something in his look 

He knew I should turn round and walk off and 
never look at him again if he hadn’t said what he 
did say. He was forced into it. He meant it, of 
course, but I can’t feel he meant to say it ; I can’t 
feel he meant to commit himself. 

That’s why I can’t be wholly happy. 

But he did say it. 

“You know what I feel to you, you maddening 
little thing,” said he. “You know you can trust 
me. Only we mustn’t tell people. It won’t be 
the first time a man has” — ^he paused a moment, 
then said the word I had been waiting for — 
“married — on the quiet.” 

He always had meant it, of course; that is, he 


THe Cottage in tHe Wood 297 

would have meant it if he had faced the future, 
but he doesn’t like facing things, and he hugs his 
freedom. I could see it, even at that moment. 

If I’d let him go on indefinitely, he would have 
gone on indefinitely. If he hadn’t known I should 

have walked off, there and then Well, well, 

that’s why men do marry women, because they 
can’t be sure of them, any other way; and I marry 
Mr. Richard to be sure of him — but it feels 
terribly like a bargain and a price. The one who 
makes the hardest and firmest terms, wins. 

Oh, surely marriage ought to be a giving, a 
coming together because it’s a joy to be together, 
because no one else understands so well; there 
oughtn’t to be any bargaining, or trusting, or 
mistrusting, no need to speak of such things. I 
thought there wasn’t; perhaps there isn’t, with 

women. But with men 

I have never felt sure of Mr. Richard. 

Yet it was much better when we knew where we 
stood. We could plan things, and it was exciting 
to think of the future when we should be together 
for ever. I could see how the idea of a secret 
marriage and a secret little home appealed to the 
adventure in him. And after all, nothing matters 
to me but being with Mr. Richard. 


298 On tHe Fig'Hting' Line 

But I would not agree to leave the Alliance at 
once, as he wished. I had arranged to stay until 
the mail-bags were found, and if Mr. Grainge were 
proved right, and somehow he seemed to think he 
would be justified all round if they were found, I 
would like to apologize to him. If I left now, it 
would seem like running away, and proving my- 
self in the wrong, and at the same time, leaving Mr. 
Grainge under a slur. Mr. Richard said I spoke 
as if I were Mr. Grainge’ s employer and were 
giving him a chance, and it was a ridiculous 
position to take up. But when I’ve started such a 
fuss, it’s only fair to see it through, however 
beastly it is for me. One can’t do a thing like that 
and slip out of the consequences. 

We argued the matter behind the cases; it was 
as if the needlework played a part in it. I had 
something to look at and cling to. When I 
couldn’t bear it, for his will is like steel, and hurts, 
and hurts, I went on to another case, till my eyes 
swam with looking at pattern after pattern. Over 
and over again, I thought Mr. Richard wouldn’t 
follow, but he moved on with me until we came 
out in a quiet place at the end where the cases 
were full of glorious dresses, embroidered as I’d 
pictured, and there, behind a frock with sprays of 


TKe Cottage in tKe Wood 299 

primrose green and daffodils and pearly blue, Mr. 
Richard caught me to him and kissed me and said 
I could do anything I liked, he’d have his innings 
when I belonged to him. Then I should see how 
much my independence counted for. 

“You’ve got the upper hand at present,” said 
he. “You’d march to the stake for your blessed 
principles, in the mood you’re in at present, but 
I’ve never been beaten yet by man, woman, horse, 
or dog, and I’m not going to give in to a scrap of a 
girl like you. So now you know what’s in store for 
you, Mrs. Richard.” 

He could do anything he wanted with me, when 
he talked like that. But oh, I mustn’t let him 
know it. 

London looked different when we came out of 
that great treasure-place, not so big, friendlier; it 
couldn’t tear Mr. Richard away from me now. 
We were united at last. 

He is going to find a little house near his Hurley 
cottage, away from the river, really hidden away; 
and we shall furnish it with the cottage things in 
the autumn. 

I couldn’t polish Jack Ford’s pans when I got 
back. I dumped them all inside his door. I have 
too many things to think of. 


300 On tHe Fi^Hting' Line 

We are going for a long taxi-spin to-morrow, to 
the sea. 

How different my life is going to be, just full of 
happiness. 

I am an idiot to feel Mr. Richard ought to have 
been more definite of his own free will ; he couldn’t 
know how insecure I felt. 

I can’t understand him saying he isn’t sure of 
me. 

Well, well, all the storm-clouds of the Alliance 
have turned into nothing; out of them has come 
the cottage in the wood. 

And all the glory of the Alliance — ^well, well, Mr. 
Richard will help that to grow more bright, and I 
can help him. 

My Fighting Line don’t seem to have as much 
to do with me, as usual; perhaps, because Mr. 
Richard’s going to do all the fighting now. I shall 
miss my sky parlour, in a way, and the friends 
I’ve made here; I shan’t be able to have friends of 
my own; well, I shan’t want to. But shall I 
satisfy him, shall I keep him, in our cottage in the 
wood? 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE ATTIC GODDESS 
June 6ih^ Sunday, 

TT seems an impossible thing to fit two lives 
* together, that are as different as Mr. Richard’s 
and mine. I can’t imagine how it will be done. 
When people are engaged openly, they give up 
their other interests more or less, and devote them- 
selves to each other, and so they start interests 
together; but when people are secretly engaged 
they can’t do that. 

My brain whirls to think of Mr. Richard’s 
friends; he has so many, and goes out so much. 
He has a lot of cousins who are very gay and 
fashionable; he says society is a big jolly family 
party and he does love the season and can’t 
possibly hurt people by declining invitations and 
becoming unsociable. 

He thinks nothing of going out to dinner and 

on to a couple of dances ; and keeps this up, night 
301 


302 On tKe Fig'Hting Line 

after night. He says if you fall out of things, your 
place is filled in a minute. 

It is wonderful that he can think of me amongst 
it all. Every Saturday a glorious bunch of roses 
comes, tucked up in tissue paper. He can’t cancel 
his river invitations and upset his friends’ plans, 
so we haven’t managed another Saturday. 

But how shall I fit into those plans when 

I can’t see myself with Mr. Richard’s friends 
any more than I can see Miss Beckles and Miss 
Patten with them. He evidently can’t, either; but 
he can’t keep me shut up in a cottage in a wood 
for ever. Suppose it’s found out? What will 
happen? He cares so much for his friends and 
people, and is so happy in their company. 

Miss Beckles asked me yesterday if I was 
seedy. 

Lately, I’ve wondered if she suspects anything, 
for she has been peculiarly gentle. She has now 
joined another variety of Suffragette. It is funny 
how every Cause splits up. If people could be 
only loyal to the one purpose, and not have dif- 
ferent opinions, and fight about them, — though 
I’m a nice one to talk. 

When I think of the way the Alliance and Mr. 
Grainge and Mr. Richard used to seem to me — 


TTHe Attic Ooddess 


303 


oh, how happy I was then, much happier then. 
The only way to get anything accomplished appears 
to be, to obey slavishly ; set up someone as an ideal 
and follow blindly ; there doesn’t seem any other 
practical way. When people begin to question and 
measure up other people’s actions, — I don’t believe 
any human actions square with perfection. And 
then, naturally, one grows disappointed and doesn’t 
know what to do. Or cuts adrift. 

June ythy Monday. 

The colonizing scheme is to be given up. I 
have spent the day writing addresses. The curtest 
intimation has been sent to applicants. Mr. 
Grainge is a wonderful person. He is heart and 
soul now in mining plans for British Columbia. 
He directed me to send out the notice about the 
abandoned scheme, as carelessly as if he had told 
me to send out for some stamps. He is not 
shattered by it. I saw Mr. Richard for a minute 
on the stairs, and he looked as gay as if nothing 
had happened, and when I said, “The Scheme’s 
off, then,” he said, “What scheme?” 

One minute, everyone tugging and fighting, and 
the next, the rope is slack, and the pullers are 
running away, light-heartedly. 


304 On tHe FigHting Line 

Great schemes come up, don’t happen, and sink 
into nothingness, and here we all are going on as 
usual, and no one stops to deplore the waste of 
energy and hope and enthusiasm. 

I am beginning to think I am a fool to be en- 
thusiastic about anyone or anything. 

No news of the mail-bags. Apparently the busi- 
ness about the cheque has been swept into the 
limbo of yesterdays. I don’t believe anyone will 
ever speak of it again. 

The office seems a dull machine, grinding, grind- 
ing, while we pass among the wheels, tiny ani- 
malcula, pouring a drop of oil in here, turning a 
handle there, feeding it with our lives, our tedious, 
daily lives. Outside, there is a happy sun-filled 
world where birds sing and people dance and 
music hums and pulses, and men and women are 
gay and beautiful like shining birds. 

But we office drones are a dull, shabby, dirty 
lot. 

How I hate the Teashop ! 

I believe I have sacrificed myself unnecessarily. 
What does Mr. Grainge care for my apology or 
opinion of him? I was an idiot not to agree to 
Mr. Richard’s proposition when he made it, and 
give notice then and there. Mr. Richard would 


TKe Attic Goddess 


305 


have to have made arrangements then. But it’s 
so hard to get at him now. 

June lyth. 

Jack Ford came in again to-night. I don’t know 
what I should do if I hadn’t him to play to me, 
and sing, and talk. To-night I was so wretched 
and he was so kind, I told him I was engaged. I 
didn’t say to whom. I told him it was a tre- 
mendous secret. 

But he was so calm and far away, I had to 
impress on him that I was independent of him 
and had my own little niche, too. It was a relief 
to tell him. I piled it on about Mr. Richard’s 
manliness; I said “he” was my ideal of everything 
a man should be, I expatiated on all the splendid 
qualities that Jack Ford hasn’t. When one is 
wretched, one has to buck oneself up, and there 
is a sort of savage joy in showing Jack Ford how I 
despise his unmanliness. 

He is so different from Mr. Richard. Manly 
men don’t stay at home so much; they aren’t free 
nearly every evening; they don’t cook for them- 
selves, and spend their days writing. 

He is so kind to me, and yet so dashed independ- 
ent, I have to show him I’m as independent as he is. 


20 


3o 6 On tHe FigHting Line 

The only way I could prove that to him, was by 
telling him about Mr. Richard. 

He said he knew; but I don’t believe he did. 

He also said he wasn’t in the least interested. 
He is the rudest person I have ever met. 

Oh, I’m so cross and wretched and alone. 

June joth. 

Jack Ford is going to leave. 

There will be no one next to me. 

I can’t picture the house without him. 

It is as if I am stretching out my hands to 
emptiness; the only companion I can talk to, is 
being tom away. The only person I was sure of, 
the only person I could cling to. 

He hadn’t been in since that night when I told 
him about Mr. Richard. The last two evenings 
I’ve been hearing bumping sounds as if he were 
house-cleaning. To-day there were cases on the 
landing, and an awful fear took hold of me. I 
heard him bumping round, and had to know. So 
I went in to ask if I could help. The room was 
upside down, books and papers over the floor. He 
was covered with dust, and said he wasn’t in a 
state to receive callers. I said, “Rot, I’m not a 
caller,” and came in. Jack Ford followed, pretty 


THe Attic Ooddess 


307 


sheepish. He knew he ought to have told me 
before. 

His leaving is quite sudden. His book was 
spoken of very highly at a dinner-party where his 
Aunt was, and she has now made him an offer of 
an allowance and the loan of her house in Aubrey 
Walk, if he will live there and go into society and 
allow his work and himself to be pushed. She 
says Campden Hill is essential if one is to be pushed 
in that sort of way. 

My last illusion was smashed, and I sat on a 
packing case and laughed not very kindly. 

He dared to grin, and said, “ Immortal Caesar, 
dead and turned to clay, stopping up a hole in 
society to drive dull care away.” 

•How could he laugh, when he had had such 
noble ideals of turning his back on all that sort of 
thing! 

“Slave of Society business, eh?” said I. 

“The idea is to enslave society, ” said Jack Ford, 
sheepish but not properly ashamed. “ Books can’t 
sell unless they’re pushed, ” 

“Ye Gods, are you going to tout for trade like 
the waiters at Kew ?” said I. 

“With the world as it is, you must do a bit of 
this sort of thing; of course, this is only an experi- 


3o 8 On tHe FigHting Line 

ment,” said Jack Ford in his confidential voice. 

shall miss my den frightfully, but every- 
one is convinced there’s nothing for it but a 
potshot at the fame business, so I’m going to 
try it.” 

“Well, I thought you were above it, that’s all I 
have to say,” said I. 

“No one’s above doing anything if he wants 
to do it badly enough,” said Jack Ford. “I want 
most awfully to make a hit. I may only be burn- 
ing my fingers now. You never believe you’re 
going to be burned till you have been burned, do 
you? So I say, let’s get the burning over as quickly 
as possible.” 

I cannot annoy him or shake him. 

I looked down on the floor, which hadn’t been 
swept for days. 

“Well, I suppose you’ve got to clear this mess 
up,” said I. “Here, where are you putting these 
books?” 

I picked up the top one of a pile of little blue 
volumes, all alike, and my eye fell on Jack Ford’s 
name. It was his precious book. 

I happened to open at the one place he 
didn’t want me to see. He flew for it, but I 
had seen. 


THe Attic Goddess 309 

To AN Attic Goddess 

Unbroken is the pallor of her brow, 

Virginal, and untroubled with the dawn 
Of love’s approach; steadfast her passionless eyes 
Steeled at the contact of love’s waking morn. 

Her lips are carved with brave imaginings 
Bidding all men beware, they are so true; 

But oh, to see the dawn flush through your heart 
And find the woman that is hid in you. 

I might have read it a thousand times, and I 
should never have dreamed of any personal con- 
nection, if he hadn’t tom it from me, and given 
the show away. He got it from me, but the 
words had printed themselves on my brain like a 
photograph. 

“Any subject inspires a poet, just as any pretty 
woman inspires a painter,” said Jack Ford, and 
for the first time, I saw him nervous. 

As for me, I wanted to gasp or something. I 
couldn’t do anything but stare at him. He had 
thought such things — Jack Ford — whom of all 

men I should have tmsted 

It didn’t seem possible he should have thought 
such things 

Even for a moment ; even long enough to write 
them. 


310 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

“Well, now I’ve seen it, I may as well read your 
book,” said I, trying to appear hardened. 

When you read a thing like that, you do see the 
writer in a different light ; I was angry that he had 
dared to think like that. I had always thought he 
separated me from Carol and the other women he 
gave hints about. I’d liked to think we were 
friends. 

“Now look here, you never, never would under- 
stand how people come to write poetry about 
people they don’t care a button for,” said Jack 
Ford, without the slightest regard for my feelings. 
He spoke as if I had none. “If you do read this 
book, it will mean a lot of rotten self-conscious- 
ness and all that sort of thing. Will you give 
me your word not to read it, even if you get the 
chance?” 

“But why?” said I. “I assure you I shan’t 
imagine anything personal in your blessed love 
poems. I don’t believe in love you can write 
about and distribute to every woman you’ve ever 
set eyes on.” 

“Ah, but it’s upsetting,” said Jack Ford, colour- 
ing a little. “You wouldn’t Hke them; I’ve always 
known that. But let that be my dark spot — the 
spot a friend doesn’t look at.” 


THe Attic Goddess 31 1 

“I’d rather know people for what they are as 
soon as possible,” said I. 

“Well, I shouldn’t have given you credit for the 
usual oh-do-let-me-see business,” said Jack Ford. 

He has no fine feelings. 

The least he could have done, in common cour- 
tesy, was to have asked me to forgive him, and 
said he was sorry. But there he stood, quite 
recovered, as if he had had nothing to do with the 
matter. 

I wish I had walked straight out of the room. 

I should have done if Sarah hadn’t looked in, 
I couldn’t let her see we were having a scene so I 
tried to be ordinary. I was glad to see her again. 
At least, Sarah takes things seriously. 

Dear me, she does. 

It was terrible though he deserved it. 

I didn’t realize what she’d come for, and when 
Jack Ford beamed at her and said, “See the con- 
quering heroine; well done, Sarah!” I remembered 
she had been in prison, and said, “Oh, so you’re 
out ! ” in a silly way, for it was such a strange thing 
to speak about to anyone you knew. But as 
Jack Ford took it cheerfully, I tried to do so, too. 
I thought he knew how they liked to be spoken to 
about such things. 


312 


On tHe FigHting Line 


Sarah stood inside the door, not noticing the 
room or me or anything but Jack Ford. Her face 
was drawn and shadowed, and her eyes glared at 
Jack Ford. 

‘‘I’ve come for news of you,” said she. “No 
one could give me any; they say you’ve not been 
near the meetings lately ” 

“Well, you see, I’ve been awfully busy,” said 
Jack Ford, losing his confident address. 

“And I hear you ran away,” said Sarah, never 
taking her eyes off him. “For the same reason, I 
suppose.” 

“Well, the fact is, I — I — ” began Jack Ford. 
I knelt down and began banging the books. It 
was really too painful. 

I couldn’t get past Sarah to go out. 

“ I funked it, ” said Jack Ford trying to swagger. 

“So I heard, but I wouldn’t believe it,” said 
Sarah, steadying herself with her hands behind her 
back. “But I’m getting used to missing faces. 
They told me it was no use coming; it was better 
to leave you alone, and go on ; but I wanted you to 
know what I thought.” 

“Don’t trouble,” said Jack Ford. 

“It’s a pleasure,” said Sarah. “I think it’s a 
good thing for men to know how they strike us; 


TKe Attic Ooddess 


313 


the men who promise to help us. I believed in 
your help, you see; the others don’t believe in any- 
thing from any man. They are right. We shan’t 
get help from men ; they’re too busy when it comes 
to doing. Too ” 

The only possible thing to do was to put my 
fingers in my ears. I could feel them at it, and 
felt her go out at last, like forked lightning, but 
I didn’t dare look up when the door banged; I 
knelt here, dusting the books vigorously, pretend- 
ing nothing imusual had happened. From the 
way Jack Ford was flinging things into a case, I 
could see how upset he was. I didn’t know he 
could be angry, or that anything could happen 
which he couldn’t laugh about. 

I asked where the books were to go, in as casual 
a voice as possible. I was so horribly ashamed 
for him. He said he was putting them into the 
smaller boxes, and plunged stacks of things into 
the case, as if he were taking potshots at an 
enemy. He was too angry to talk, and too proud 
to tell me to go. If I had got up, it would have 
looked as if I had noticed something. The friendli- 
est thing seemed to be to stay and help, and talk 
about the packing. Although we both know we 
were only covering up a painful situation, and not 


314 On tHe FigKting Line 

really covering it up at all. Still, there are times 
when the most transparent people have to act 
they’re feeling differently from how they are. 

We were clearing the room gradually, and I was 
covered with dust, — blouse, hands, hair, and all, 
when a rattle of voices sounded and in btu*st 
Simon, Stephen, and the Bird Boy, all very excited; 
especially Simon who sat down directly he got in 
and said he disclaimed all responsibility for any 
rubbish they liked to talk, and lit a cigarette in 
what was meant to be an impassive manner, but 
anyone could see he was feeling the world hardly 
big enough to hold him. 

The Bird Boy and Stephen talked at once; in a 
minute or two I found that Simon had had a play 
accepted ; to be put on in the early autumn. 

They were so excited that it was several minutes 
before the Bird Boy looked rotmd and said, “But 
why all this thusness?” 

Then Jack Ford told his news, and the Bird Boy 
threw up his hat and caught it nimbly and said: 
“Invite me to dinner. I have begun a new lease 
of life. Battersea is rapidly ruining me in taxis. 
Now you’ll only be two comers.” 

“Does the Aimt leave maids and everything?” 
asked Stephen. 


XHe Attic Goddess 


315 


The Aunt was leaving him a French cook, so 
that he could feed his friends into friendship; she 
was leaving everything that any yotmg man could 
want on this earth, and had insisted on her florist 
arranging the flowers for special dinners. Jack 
Ford said he should have a stag dinner every Sun- 
day, and gave the three of them a standing invita- 
tion. Stephen asked if the Aimt would preside 
and the Bird Boy doubled himself up, and Jack 
Ford said rather not, she knew her place, and 
his. All that she asked, was for an illustrious 
man to worship, and the more illustrious he became, 
the better pleased she'd be. He said she liked him 
because he made it so extremely clear that woman's 
province stopped at providing dinners. 

I couldn't have believed Jack Ford was uttering 
such hateful things. The others laughed and the 
Bird Boy rubbed his hands and said Jack had 
returned to sanity and he would end as a bon 
vivant. Men who could make coffee, always did. 
He smothered his face as if he were awfully pleased. 
How I despised him for such pitiful flattery. 
Then Stephen said they must celebrate the double 
event, and suggested dinner somewhere. Simon 
said it must be his dinner, and what about the 
Gourmet. The Bird Boy said they must go on to 


3i6 


On tHe FigHting' Line 


Pavlova. Jack Ford said he had meant to go and 
began to hum a tune while he cleaned some boots. 
It suddenly occurred to me he might want to 
change. I said I thought the books could get on 
by themselves now, and he thanked me, but not 
effusively. They were all quite polite, but they 
were plainly sufficient to themselves to-night. 

I went out, feeling pushed out. Just pushed out 
because I wasn't a man. I wanted to be a man; 
I wanted to go out to dinner with them, and have 
fun, instead of sitting alone, thinking, thinking 

Oh, those women who were content to sit and 
sew things, had an easy time of it. Nowadays, we 
are women and men together. Part of the time 
we want to go out into the world, and rattle about 
with cash in our pockets, and have fim ; part of the 
time we thrill to be doing big work in cities and 
offices; part of the time we hark back and want the 
old comfortable days of quiet huswifery and all 
the time, all the time we want to be companioned 
and safe and loved. 

How jolly it must be to have friends to drop in 
on you and carry you off; friends to dine with 
every Sunday; rich aunts to pet you and wait on 
you; and a hard, thick-skinned temperament that 
never, never feels. 


TKe Attic Goddess 317 

Here I am, in my lonely room, with a row of 
photographs for company, photographs of men 
who would stare out of their scornful eyes and 
curl up their noses if they knew a little rat like me 
had adopted them for friends — her only friends. 

For Mr. Richard isn’t a friend. Jack Ford isn’t 
a friend. I can’t depend on either. 

I’ve just a row of photographs, pretence people, 
whom I pretend look at me now comfortingly and 
say: “Buck up, young un, put your back to the 
wall, and don’t grizzle.” 

A martyr in a lonely house 
Had better iron her Sunday blouse; 

And then her whines she’d best be stopping 
And run outside and do her shopping. 


CHAPTER XV 


MR. RICHARD BACKS OUT 


June joth, 

HE mail-bags have been found. Miss Beckles 



read out the paragraph at lunch. I ought to 
have been relieved that the issue would now have 
to be faced and settled, but I wasn’t. I had the 
fimniest seizing inside, as if something I’d forgotten 
had gripped me again. For if they hadn’t been 
found, I suppose I should have gone on at the 
office as usual, for ever. But now the whole busi- 
ness will have to be stirred up again ; and the ques- 
tion of the apology will come up. I don’t believe, 
for a minute, those notes were in the mail-bags; 
Mr. Grainge would most certainly have taken 
some steps to discover the donor, if he had had any 
reason to suppose notes had been sent. And as 
far as I know, he’s done nothing; and even if the 
mail-bags are found — the business of the counter- 
foil won’t be cleared up. 


Mr. RicKard DacKs Out 319 

I feel as if something terrifying and disturbing’s 
coming; something I’m helpless before; I felt like 
that when father became really ill. Well, I got 
through then; I must get through now. 

I’ve Mr. Richard now, and I had no one then. 

I hate the summer. He is away this week. He 
might have told me. I seem to know less and less 
about him instead of more. If it weren’t for the 
roses every Saturday, I should begin to think I 
had made a ghastly mistake, and I mean nothing 
to him. 

After all, if anything happens at the Alliance, 
he will have to be definite. 

July 3d, Saturday. 

I have to record a solemn ceremonial to-day, 
the burial of my Fighting Line. If I had had a fire, 
I would have given them the honours of crema- 
tion; but when one has three pounds between 
oneself and starvation, one can’t go in for any 
unnecessary ritual. Even matches count. Be- 
sides I didn’t feel like spending anything more on 
any men. So they were consigned to the depths 
of my tin box, my rubbish tin. Now my mantel- 
piece is free of a row of hypocrites. 

That’s what English men are — hypocrites, hypo- 


320 On tKe Fig'Htin^ Line 

crites ; posing as being strong when they are weak — 
weak and contemptible ; posing as being dignified 
and powerful; posing as being just and working 
for great causes, when they haven’t the least ele- 
ment of justice in them, and are unmerciful, 
tyrannical, pushing out of their way all those who 
might make things uncomfortable for them; those 
who care for being true and honest. 

I have received a curt notice that my services 
will not be required again, and an extra week’s 
salary, turning me off as if I’d stolen or done 
something wrong. They haven’t given me a 
chance to keep my berth by apologising. The 
notes haven’t turned up; Mr. Grainge is proved 
indisputably a liar, and gets rid of me. I noticed 
how worried he looked when I took his letters 
yesterday, but he hadn’t the grace to tell me what 
he was going to do. It might have been disagree- 
able for him. It was easier to send a note up with 
my money. 

I’m beginning to agree with Miss Beckles. Men 
aren’t to be trusted with so much power. It isn’t 
good for them. They can use it to make things 
comfortable for themselves, not to protect the 
weak. They do use it for that, and when they’re 
accused, they say discipline must be preserved; 


Mr. RicHard BacKs 0\it 321 

it’s essential for the Empire that men should be 
strong and in authority, and for that end women 
must be kept weak and subjugated. 

Strong people aren’t afraid of weak people. 
It’s the weak who fear, and men are afraid of 
women. They daren’t let them into their pro- 
fessions ; they’re afraid of being supplanted. They 
daren’t let them into power in the City; they’re 
afraid women would share the money that they 
make. 

When all posts everywhere are thrown open to 
competition irrespective of sex. I’ll believe men 
aren’t afraid of us. 

Everything Miss Beckles has been saying, is 
coming home now. But I wouldn’t let her know 
what has happened. It’s too horrible. I didn’t 
speak to her or Miss Patten about it. They’ve 
got to work on imder Mr. Grainge; if they don’t 
find him out, so much the better for them. 

They’re safe still. They’ve got their salaries 
ahead of them. But I, I — Miss Patten promised 
me a cross-stitch pattern for Monday. But I’ve 
something besides needlework to think about. 
I’ve got to get another job. And where am I to go, 
without a reference, or being able to say why I’ve 
been turned off at a minute’s notice? Suppose I 


21 


322 On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

say I’ve been at the Alliance, and the new people 
ring up about me? I should think they’re certain 
to, if I can’t give a written reference. A nice 
report they’d get from Mr. Grainge. 

It’s no use indulging in the luxury of lashing 
out against people and powers and all the rest of 
it. I’ve got to face the position, squarely. I’ve 
four pounds, twelve, all told; there is six shillings 
a week for rent, I can manage on five shillings a 
week for food at a pinch, and I can walk, and save 
fares as much as possible. I shall get through the 
worst part of the summer, even if I don’t get a 
job. I may get a job next week. If people would 
only try me, I know I could make good. And I’ll 
do anything. There’s no need to be afraid. Let 
Mr. Grainge turn me away; the Alliance isn’t the 
only office in London. 

But oh, it’s the only one where Mr. Richard is. 

If he were here, he’d know and come to me; but 
he’s away. I ought to write and tell him, but I’d 
so much rather write when I have another job. 
Then it won’t seem like asking 

I couldn’t ask him to hang me round his neck 
because I can’t keep on my own feet. It’s one 
thing to give up a settled berth and marry a man 
from choice, because you love him; he must feel 


Mr. RicHard BacKs Out 323 

indebted to you, then. But when a man marries 
you because you can’t keep yourself, when he 
feels you’re dependent on him, and he’s got to 
marry you — why, Mr. Richard would feel I was a 
burden. He hates being tied. He loves me 
because I’m independent. I must keep my 
independence now. 

I can’t tell him without making him feel un- 
comfortable and responsible, until I have a job. 

But oh, to have someone, someone, so that I 
shouldn’t feel so utterly cut off. 

I miss Jack Ford; there is a great spot of 
silence now, where there used to be a nest of 
happy, human sounds. His voice never rings 
out through the wall, making one forget every- 
thing miserable and ugly. As long as he was 
there, I was “through” with a human voice, and 
a human centre. I could have gone in to him, if 
I’d been hungry; I could have told him anything 
like that, and he would have helped me through 
with the same matter-of-fact kindness as that with 
which he’d help anyone. He doesn’t attach im- 
portance to helping people; or cheering them; or 
quarrelling with them. It all comes in the day’s 
round, and next day he begins again. 

Now he’s away, I can forgive his little foibles. 


324 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

his little vanities, even his insults. I*m a rebel 
now, and could cry out with him against injustice. 
I wish he hadn’t gone. 

If the Something that governs us, is friendly, 
surely J ack Ford would never have been taken away . 

Maybe it’s selfish; maybe he will succeed now 
he’s in Aubrey Walk; maybe I ought to be glad 
at his good fortune — but it isn’t human to be 
glad when the few people that one knows, are 
taken off and popped into different worlds into 
which there’s no admittance. Jack Ford belonged 
so naturally to this old building and the scram- 
bling life one lives up here ; I can’t see him in a tail- 
coat and topper, trotting round to parties and 
chit-chatting with fashionable ladies. 

He doesn’t dance, and I don’t believe he ever will. 

What a happy time we had, we two outsiders, 
when we both seemed leagues and leagues re- 
moved from Carol 

Carol lives in Kensington 

Perhaps it’s her day now. 

July nth, Sunday, 

Well, I thought I knew what humiliation means, 
but I didn’t. 

I thought men could rub in one’s insignificance, 


Mr. RicHard BacKs 0 \Jt 325 

but they haven’t begun to be as clever at that, as 
women. I’ve been to five employment agencies 
and I’ve met one woman who didn’t suspect me, 
and I didn’t tell her I couldn’t get a reference, I 
didn’t dare to. 

But the others — directly I said I was sorry 
to say I could give no reference, and preferred 
not to say where I had been last, and could I be 
tried on my merits, they froze, one after the 
other. Naturally I became nervous after the re- 
ception I had with the first I tried ; such a nice- 
looking, able woman too; but directly I began to 
explain I couldn’t say where I had been or give a 
reference, I saw how queer it sounded and began 
to blush, and she looked down at the desk as if 
she were very, very doubtful, and sorry for me, 
and I got up and said, '‘I see you think it’s no 
good,” and walked out. 

I made myself sit still and let the others tell me 
that; and the last place I was deliberately dis- 
honest and said I had left as the summer was 
coming on, and didn’t speak about a reference. I 
gave the name of the Alliance with all the assur- 
ance I was capable of, as if I was proud of having 
worked there. But the end of July is a bad time. 

I have answered advertisements, I have tramped 


326 On the Fighting' Line 

up and down all day, there’s the same story every- 
where; a bad time of year for extra rushes where 
people take on extra hands without being particu- 
lar about their past; and the demand for creden- 
tials, when I strike anything worth while and 
reputable, and millions of typists with magnificent 
credentials ready to oblige the demand. I’ve two 
pounds left. 

July 2Sth, Sunday, 

My shoes are wearing thin, both pairs; I’m be- 
ginning to know what real poverty amounts to, 
not apricots and cream-and-cocoa poverty. I’m 
trying oatmeal, and I feel sick and ill at the thought 
of meal times. If every scrap wasn’t precious, I 
should hate it worse than I do. In a way, I’m 
glad I can’t eat much at a time. But oh, the length 
of the days when one doesn’t go out Saturdays 
and Sundays, when everything’s closed, and it 
would be sinful waste to use my shoes. I feel I 
shall go mad with nothing to do, no one to speak 
to. I pray I shan’t break down; I pray I shan’t 
answer Mr. Richard’s letter. 

He’s away till August. He still doesn’t know 
I’ve left. 

I pray, I pray I get a job before he comes. I’m 


Mr. RicKard BacKs Out 327 

so weak and silly now I should cry if he came, I 
should break down and ask him to take me, I 
should hang myself onto him and hate myself for 
it ever after, and so would he. 

I must think of something else. 

Sunday night. 

I’ve been looking through the tin box; I’ve 
never read father’s manuscripts before; what a 
lot he wrote; a novel tied up, all yellow; bundles 
of poems, three fat exercise books full, and any 
amount of odd things which want sorting out. It 
will be something to do, almost like having com- 
pany. How odd to read what father wrote at last. 
He must have minded no one being interested. 
Knowing Jack Ford has made me feel kinder to 
father. 

Later. 

Of course if father saw all the messes we were 
in, as early dawn and the burial of the seed, he 
could afford to wait, hopefully. He keeps saying 
again and again, in different ways, that those who 
fight for what’s right, won’t have success easily; 
but they’ll surely win through, and the only way 
is to go on believing and upholding truth, truth, 


328 On tHe Line 

truth, and the truth is that the sun is there, the 
truth is that God is there, that Good is first and 
upmost and worth fighting for. He keeps crying 
it out; he keeps saying it in every poem, if he’s 
only making a verse about the wind, or the little 
brook, or a baby. 

He did love the country; I wonder why he 
didn’t live there. We always have Hved in London. 

It’s awfully funny; I feel as if I’ve suddenly 
made friends with a person who understands 
everything I like and can talk about it; someone 
who’s patting my shoulder and saying. Buck up, 
it will all come right. Truth will win. Truth 
must win. And you made your stand for Truth. 

Oh, if I’d only known what father was thinking 
and writing when he sat in his big chair day after 
day, evening after evening, scarcely ever speaking 
and looking helpless and worried when we bothered 
about the bills. But it’s worse to remember the 
envelopes that came back day after day, and 
worse still to remember when he came back from 
tramping round Fleet Street ; he used to give us the 
money that did come sometimes so patiently, like 
a child, bringing home what he could. At one 
time, there seemed a better run of luck, I re- 
member, when he did translating, but in the last 


Mr. RicKard BacKs 0 \Jt 329 

three years there was nothing regular, and we 
lived on his books. I thought it was a good clear- 
ance to get rid of them, they needed so much 
dusting. 

I can see him going up and down the shelves, 
picking them out, looking at one, and putting it 
back as if he couldn’t let it go; and then, when 
we had to have food and the rent was clamoured 
for, he had to go back and pluck out his treasures 
that he was trying so hard to save. Then the 
shelves grew empty, and I began to use them for 
my work-basket and anything else, and the room 
lost its cosey, bookish, air, and became bare and 
poor. 

I remember one little incident so well; it hurt 
me, even then. Father had been working at the 
table, absorbed as usual; I was piecing out a 
blouse from an old dress of mother’s, and suddenly 
I looked up, and there he was standing at the 
shelves, searching among the few, few volumes. 
I can see him turning round with his mystified, 
dreamy air, asking if I knew where his Virgil was. 
I asked what it was like, and he said it had his 
college arms on, and I told him the last of that lot 
had gone three weeks ago, when I had to stump up 
for my Polytechnic fee. I thought him unpractical 


330 On tine FigHting Line 

for having forgotten ; I spoke in the way I always 
used to speak to him, impatiently and hardly. I 
can see him stand looking at the place where the 
book used to be, and then turning without a word 
and going back and bending his head over the 
papers and writing, writing. I remember feehng 
sorry, and taking extra trouble with the soup so 
that he should enjoy his dinner, and I remember 
being angry because he never noticed; he never 
knew what he was eating; I had tried so hard to 
make it extra nice and had mashed the vegetables 
through a sieve though I was frightfully, fright- 
fully busy. I had my one chance at that Poly- 
technic. Then, when father pointed out the 
beautiful pale sky, I said it was grey and shut 
him up. 

I did think he might have noticed the soup, 
and it wasn’t pleasant to think he was making 
sacrifices for my Polytechnic fees. Though I was 
right to insist on going. 

And the stuff that he was writing was hopeful 
and faithful through it all. I call that being truly 
brave. 

Just as I’ve been wanting someone to speak a 
friendly word to me, and pat me on the back, so 
father must have wanted sometimes, someone 


Mr. RicHard BacKs 0 \it 331 

. . . I don’t believe mother encouraged him; I 
remember her, always busy and clever with her 
hands, but worried, oh, so worried. 

Aunt Minnie reminded me of her in a ghastly 
sort of way; mother had a rather curious accent; 
of course Aunt Minnie speaks a sort of dialect. 

Father’s voice was beautiful. In a lanky, in- 
decisive way he was rather fine looking; I used to 
picture Don Quixote, like him. I can’t get over 
him sending out those brave messages from his 
prison, and no one ever reading them. That was 
the last straw, to know they were doomed to 
burial, unheard, useless. Yet when he died, his 
eyes were happy. I thought the happy look was 
because he was getting out of the bills; but I 
remember thinking him very patient to smile like 
that at me. Now I know he was smiling because 
he wasn’t afraid for me any more than for himself, 
even though he hadn’t seemed to bring anything 
off. 

I’m going to read every word of everything he’s 
left ; I must do something to keep me from think- 
ing of what will happen when my last pound’s 
gone. 

After all, if father made a mess of his life. I’ve 
made a pretty big mess of mine. I thought people 


332 


On tHe FigHting Line 


could always get on if they tried hard enough, and 
were practical. Well, father’s message is that the 
sun is there, and our business is to fight the devil 
Despair. 

July 28thy Wednesday, 

Somebody else ought to read this stuff; it’s too 
good to be reserved for one person. Other people 
are bothering and fearing and fighting like me; 
these poems ought to get through to them. 
They’ve bucked me so. When the days bring 
nothing, I stiffen more; I come home thinking of 
the good evening I’m going to have with all the 
stuff I’ve yet to read, and all the other stuff to 
read again. I say lines to myself, when one office 
after another turns me back. I fight, consciously, 
visibly, with London — the great nightmare, Lon- 
don. I say to myself, this is only the earthy time 
and the sun is there, and I’ll surely get through. 
In the meantime, there’s the lovely warm sum- 
mer, there’s my dear little sky parlour, there’s 
peace and quiet and freshness up there at the top, 
there’s enough to go on with and I’m not going to 
get left. I won’t, I won’t give in, I won’t despair. 

And it’s all due to father ; the messages that have 
lain buried in the tin box, the pages that seemed 


Mr. RicKard BacKs 0\it 333 

so useless. Now I’ve dug them up, and they’re 
alive. 

I’ve a good mind to send one to a paper and see 
if I couldn’t get it printed. Now as I go through 
the streets, I often see such a worried, unhappy 
face. I see shabby people now, people who ob- 
viously haven’t anything to do, sitting in the 
Park ; I notice their boots and my heart goes out to 
them. I long, I long to say. Buck up. I long to say, 
"‘You can keep happy through it all, anyway, 
however it turns out; the seed isn’t dead; the 
earth isn’t really cold and heavy; some day you 
too will wake up in the sun. ” 

Father has said all this so beautifully and 
cleverly, I’m sure some paper would print it, and 
then who knows who might read it? 

July 30th y Friday. 

I have heard the truth about Mr. Richard’s 
feelings to me ; something in me knew that what I 
heard was true. 

In my heart I have always known it, from that 
first day when we met at Kew, and I knew, I 
knew, his world was full up to the brim with 
other people, other thoughts and interests ; I knew 
he came sailing beside me for fim for a few 


334 On tKe FigHting Line 

minutes, and then out he would tack into the 
wide blue seas, to return perhaps, when the wind 
blew him my way but always for a minute or so — 
never, never to stay. 

I’m grateful I have learned the truth, before I 
see him again. I knew it wouldn’t be wise to see 
him when my little ship is so very water- logged. 

Just at the moment there is a great calm, as if 
something that hurt terribly has been taken from 
me. I shall begin to find what has gone presently, 
when I move about and realise Mr. Richard is 
never, never to be with me again. 

I believe Carol did a brave thing in coming to 
me to tell me. I felt to-day I knew where I was 
with her; if we weren’t so far apart I felt we could 
be friends. In a way, although we are so far apart, 
I feel she is a friend. Spots in her are absolutely 
true; though I can see there might be times when 
I should feel at sea again. 

It is a relief to be cut off ; I dreaded hanging on 
to him; yes, yes it is a relief to know the truth 
about him. 

I wish I hadn’t fought at all, trying to make out 
he cared. I wish directly Carol spoke, I could have 
laid him down and not held on, a minute longer. 
But, though it went like a knife to my heart, I 


Mr. RicHard BacKs 0 \it 335 

couldn’t help struggling at first. But that is over 
now. 

There is one good thing — I never let out that I 
have only one and twopence left, and no prospect 
of another sou before me. It’s true, I have the 
furniture, but if I once sell that. I’ll never get a 
home together again. Maybe, my home will have 
to go. Everything else has. 

Thank goodness, Carol doesn’t beat about the 
bush; she didn’t pretend she came to see me 
because she was passing my way, or thought she 
would like to see me again, or any rot like that. 
She looked me straight in the eyes, and said “ Glad 
you’re in, I’ve come to have a talk with you, ” and 
slithered down on the bed, as it was the nearest 
point, as deftly as her custom is. 

Her babyish look had gone; she was frowning 
and older and spoke with the air of an experienced 
woman. 

“You won’t like what I’ve come to say,” said 
she ; and I knew then, what it was. 

“How do you know?” said I. 

“Because you know nothing of men and the 
world,” said Carol, never flinching. “But you’ll 
be more miserable if someone doesn’t tell you. 
It’s a shame you aren’t told, and as Richard will 


j 


336 On tHe FigHting Line 

never have the pluck to tell you, but will just go 
on, not answering letters and seeing you in a blue 
moon and promising things, and then wishing he 
could cut his silly head off, I’ve come.” 

She was like her father, for all her slim prettiness, 
as she sat there ; as powerful. 

“Did Mr. Richard tell you about me, then,” 
said I. 

I looked at her; everything was whirling, but 
it was idiotic to try and appear imconcemed. 
When one’s heart is tom out, one can’t pretend 
it doesn’t hurt. 

“Men don’t tell such things,” said Carol with 
the faintest curl of her lip. “They put supposi- 
titious cases to you, and ask what would be the 
kindest thing to do? Ought they to make a mess 
of their lives? Men always tmburden themselves 
when they’re in a mess, and the moonlight,” said 
Carol, looking underneath her eyelids like a proud, 
tired queen. 

“ We’ve been staying in the same house for a fort- 
night and I made him talk ; I suspected what was up, 
but I wanted to have something which I could come 
and tell you; because I think it’s too bad.” 

“ How do you know he is in the mess with me?” 
said I. 


Mr. RicHard BacKs 0 \jt 337 

“Because he isn’t capable of being in a mess 
with someone else, and making love to you,” said 
Carol, gazing at me in a way that made me know 
it was no use trying to be dignified. “He’s not a 
bad sort, as boys go, boys of that type ; only rather 
peculiarly silly. Men don’t face things. They must 
have their cake when they want it. But now he’s 
tired and wants to put back that particular sort 
of cake upon the shelf, Minette, and you’re a little 
duffer if you ever let him take it down again. ” 

She was looking at me sadly now, sadly and 
wisely, as if she didn’t care whether I listened or 
not. 

“It’s strange that he troubles to send me these 
every Saturday,” said I, and touched the great 
red roses — my steady luxury. 

“Those roses mean a postcard to a florist and 
a bill when he’s forgotten that he ever sent the 
order,” said Carol in the same level tone. 

I had never thought of that. I had pictured him 
sending every week, thinking of me . . . imagin- 
ing me with them . . . 

“I don’t believe he’s told you anything, I can’t 
believe it,” said I. “You’re guessing, because 
you are so clever; you don’t understand the least 
bit, what I feel, or what he does.” 


22 


338 On tKe Fig'Hting Line 

'‘It's the hardest thing in the world to come 
here, you little idiot,” said Carol, and her eyes 
snapped. “I didn’t want to come. It would suit 
me much better to have you go on muddling up 
your life with that cock-sure boy. I want you to go 
on messing about with him just as you’re doing — 
d’you think I don’t know that if I hadn’t come, 
he’s too cowardly and you’re too innocent, ever 
to get straight with one another? But you’re so 
jolly much too good for him, and it’s such a jolly 
shame. I don’t care how miserable he is, the 
miserabler, the better. He deserves much worse 
than he’ll ever get in this world. But a sparrow 
like you — ^you’re such a plucky little sparrow — I 
had to come.” 

Carol had relaxed into her old curled-up pose; 
she leaned forward, hitting me with the words, as if 
she were angry with herself for coming, angry at 
her own stupidity. 

“How can it hurt you?” said I, bitterly. There 
she sat in her gay, slick frock and silk stockings 
and bright shoes, ready to go off to some party, 
when she’d done with me; ready to go off to Mr. 
Richard and dance with him, and listen to him in 
the moonlight; and there I stood in the blouse I 
hadn’t washed properly for weeks because of the 


Mr. RicKard BacKs 0 \it 339 

soap, the old working blouse I couldn’t afford now 
to keep properly clean, and heard her talk of it 
being a kindness to take Mr. Richard from me. 
She blinked her eyes in a funny, secret way, and 
didn’t answer. 

“Supposing what you say is true, what business 
is it of yours? ’ ’ said I ; oh, I was angry. She looked 
so fresh, and so well taken care of. 

“It’s never anybody’s business to do a disagree- 
able thing to help anyone, ” said she ; “ I was a fool 
to come, and I shall repent it ever after, and yet 
I’ve come. ” She paused and sat nursing her knee 
and blinking and glowering at me in a babyish, 
sulky way, which was more natural than the 
grown-up air. “I don’t expect you to admit I’m 
right, but think it over and keep your eyes open, 
and you’ll find out, now you’ve had a jolt. You 
won’t be able to keep from thinking of what I’m 
telling you. Richard is thoroughly happy in the 
state to which he has been called, and knows it, 
and wouldn’t change for anything. He’d have to 
change his state very considerably if he married 
you, and he knows that too. He doesn’t want to 
marry at all, and if he does, he’ll choose a girl who 
can fly roimd with him and do the things he’s used 
to doing.” 


340 On tHe Fi^Htin^ Line 

“Like yourself,” said I. 

I knew it was true ; but it made me feel as if all 
my skin was being stripped off. 

“ Heavens, no ! ” said Carol. “ I want something 
better than that. He’s vain enough to like being 
noticed by me — ” Carol humped her shoulders 
ever so little. I longed to tell her Mr. Richard 
had thought her over-dressed; “the sort of woman 
one meets at restaurants” . . . “But I wouldn’t 
bother with him seriously. He’ll only really give 
up his freedom for a girl who can plaster it on so 
thick that he can’t live without it. He’s been 
jolly near making the mistake of his life — of both 
your lives ” 

Carol paused. 

“Do you mean I — plastered it on — ” said I, 
and couldn’t speak. 

“Minette, you are an idealist,” said Carol. 
“You cannot be an idealist to-day, or you’ll get 
left, horribly left. People are cram full of mean, 
beastly pettiness; they’re jealous and vain and 
while they love their superiority to be believed in; 
they hate you when you insist on them living up 
to your ideal of them. It’s a tug to have to be 
true and generous and unselfish all the time. 
You’re not loved for your virtues by the people 


Mr. RicHard BacKs Ovit 341 

who aren’t as virtuous as you; you’re a standing 
reproof to them, specially when you take it for 
granted they’re after the same things as yourself. 
Only noble people can love noble people, and there 
are precious few of them about. Richard isn’t 
one of them. He’s the ordinary, selfish, spoiled 
young man whose school has educated him to 
think he’s the salt of the earth, and its principal 
adornment. Your precious Empire is the result 
of millions of these selfish young men imposing 
themselves on a plastic universe, and followed 
by their adoring women-kind to the far ends of the 
globe,. I really do believe the Victorian woman 
would have followed a man to Hell, if he’d held 
out the enticement of stroking his lonely pillow. 
To-day, women are beginning to go out by them- 
selves, and some day they’ll handle their share of 
the booty; however, that won’t be in our time. 
We’re only at the stage where we are refusing to 
spend our lives stroking the lonely pillow. Yours 
would be the lonely pillow if you married Richard. 
Hate me as much as you like, Minette. Some- 
thing in you appeals to me. You won’t be able to 
help seeing through Richard now.” 

Carol surrendered her intense attitude and 
sHpped into her usual indolent lounge, her cheek 


342 On tHe FigHting Line 

on her hand, half-lying, as if she’d finished and 
didn’t care how I took it. 

If she had talked like that before I’d left the 
Alliance, I shouldn’t have believed her. But I 
hadn’t much belief left in any man, and this 
stripped away the last illusion. Though I’d 
always known it, deep down, always known Mr. 
Richard was superior, imreachably superior . . . 
but just a little selfish. 

“I don’t hate you,” said I. 

I couldn’t argue about Mr. Richard. As I 
looked at Carol, she and he reminded me of danc- 
ing dragon-flies. When a person’s drowning they 
can’t take much interest in dragon-flies’ gyrations, 
however bright and fascinating. 

I had one and twopence in my purse. It is 
August and there is about as much chance of 
getting work without a reference or any sort of 
credentials, as of marrying the Prince of Wales. 
I have my brutal indifference to father, my 
hardness, — all that to think about now, now I too 
am tasting failure. I knew Mr. Richard wasn’t 
a friend whom I could coimt on, and now she had 
come to tell me he was miserable because he was 
tied to me, it was an added sting, but I didn’t 
feel I’d lost anything by knowing it. When one 


Mr. RicHard BacKs 0 \jt 343 

can’t get a job, food is more important than 
feelings. 

But Carol had never had anything but feelings 
to think about. 

I had a bigger problem than anything she was 
talking about, at this particular minute, and Mr. 
Richard’s character and the Empire and all that 
didn’t make me forget it. It was nearly five and 
I hadn’t offered Carol tea, and she was obviously 
staying. I had cut out tea and coffee weeks ago; 
also butter. I had a scrap of margarine that I had 
planned out for three meals, I cannot eat oatmeal 
without something. 

But before I could let Carol know I had nothing, 
I would die! 

These people can think me a nuisance, and show 
me my proper station, and I can still stand up to 
them, and let them see they can’t touch me, can’t 
make me break down. But if they knew I was 
starving, they would feel bound to help me. 

“Oh, do say something, Minette; forgive me or 
swear at me or something,” said Carol. 

“ I was thinking how I could best get rid of you,” 
said I, trying to laugh. “You see, I’m very busy. ” 

“You’re working too hard, Minette, ” said Carol, 
drawing herself up with a sudden queer swiftness. 


344 Fi^Hting Line 

'‘You’ll break down if you slave so. You’re 
thin.” 

“I’ve been banting lately on purpose,” said I, 
still trying to laugh. ” Ready for my new autumn 
suit.” 

I nearly sank into the ground to hear myself 
talking Society talk Hke this. A light, airy voice 
seemed prattling away, outside of me. 

“Will you swear to me you’re not working 
overtime,” said Carol, staring harder and harder. 
“I’ve a good mind to speak to father about it.” 

Speak to Mr. Grainge about me! Hear I had 
gone without a character! Guess that I was out 
of a job ! Tell Jack Ford and have the two of them 
seeing what they could do for me ! 

She must be prevented from saying anything to 
Mr. Grainge. Suddenly I remembered what Mr. 
Richard had said about Carol’s expeditions to 
Jack Ford’s rooms. 

“If you do, I shall tell your father how I made 
your acquaintance and where,” said I. I meant 
it for a threat. I spoke coldly. It was awful to 
threaten her like that, but I had to get her out of 
the room and keep her quiet after. 

Carol looked at me as if she couldn’t believe her 
ears. Then I was angry, furiously angry, at being 


Mr. RicHard BacKs Out 345 

despised and thought mean and treacherous, more 
angry with Carol than with myself for she had 
forced me into threatening her. 

'‘You can’t have everything,” said I. "If 
you’re one of the precious sort of women you have 
to stay packed up and looked after. That’s your 
value; nothing’s allowed to rub the bloom off. 
People Hke me don’t matter; we can go where we 
Hke and do what we like because we’re cheap. I 
could see Jack Ford every night if I want to, and 
there’s no one to know or care. You know what 
people would say if they heard you came here by 
yourself to see him. If you speak of me to yoiu- 
father or Mr. Richard or Jack Ford or anyone, I 
shall speak of you and say what I know of you.” 

I heard myself saying these things as if a gramo- 
phone was speaking, just the same toneless sort of 
voice, rather shrill and loud. 

She stood up, swinging one foot and looking at 
me as if she could kill me. As if I were threatening 
to take something from her, and she were defending 
herself. 

I shouldn’t have thought Carol would have 
cared for her people’s opinion. Not as much as 
that. 

"I didn’t think anything about you coming to 


34^ On tKe FigHting Line 

see Jack Ford, ” said I. I couldn’t let her go away 
with that idea. I wished I’d never passed on the 
sneer I heard from Mr. Richard. 

But it was done, and things done, can’t be 
undone easily. ^ j 

‘ ‘ So it’s 'Jack ’ Ford, is it ? ” said Carol. ‘ ‘ When 
did you begin to call him Jack?” 

“I don’t call him anything,” said I. ‘‘I only 
think of him by the name which everyone calls 
him. He calls me Minette. ” 

Carol remained eyeing me in the queerest 
way. 

“ I said he would leave his nest some day and the 
alliance would be broken, didn’t I, the first time 
we met,” said she with a cruel smile. always 
know what’s going to happen; always.” 

She didn’t look as if very happy things were 
going to happen to her or anyone, that minute. 

I wasn’t going to stand being exulted over, in 
my own room. It was my room, after all, and she 
was plainly wanting to be hateful. 

This seemed a good time to get rid of her. 

I opened the door. 

“If you don’t go, I shall,” said I. “I really 
don’t care which.” 

Carol looked at me again, shrugged her shoulders 


Mr. RicHard BacKs 0\jt 347 

and marched past with her chin up, and ran 
downstairs. 

I suppose I’ve turned a friend into an enemy. 

For she was a friend. She came in kindness, in 
one of those sudden streaks of kindness that belong 
to her. 

And I’ve repaid her by insulting her basely, 
abominably, because of my pride. That’s all that 
it amounted to. I could not tell her in her tri- 
umphant smartness, her well-kept prettiness, that 
I had no tea to give her, not even bread or butter. 

To-day, as I was coming home, I felt certain 
help was on the way. I felt certain I shouldn’t be 
let down quite, quite to the bottom. 

Oh, if Carol had been the help, for if I had told 
her it was impossible to get work without a refer- 
ence and she had spoken to her father 

But no, I couldn’t swallow my pride enough to 
take anything from Mr. Grainge, now, after he’s 
treated me as he has done. I couldn’t let anyone 
appeal to him, for me. 

July 31st, Saturday, 

A cheque has come from The Westminster Ga- 
zette, for father’s poem; and a little letter; the 
editor likes it and wants more. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE VANISHING BREAD 
August 6thf Wednesday, 

T HAVE finished the box; I like the poems best; 

the long things are hardest to understand; and 
the novel is a little disappointing. A novel ought 
to end happily, to leave a nice taste in one’s mouth, 
and one doesn’t know exactly how the people end 
in father’s; in fact one doesn’t feel they end at all. 
I like books where everyone is settled up comfort- 
ably, so that I can leave off, feeling the author has 
told all that can possibly be told about that 
particular story. In father’s book, the characters 
might do anything after the last chapter, which is 
irritating and makes one want a sequel. 

I don’t remember hearing about this novel; but 
then he never said anything about what he was 
writing. He was rather like the man in the novel, 
in that respect; only the man in the novel was a 

careless, happy-go-lucky boy. Sometimes father’s 
348 


THe VanisHing Bread 349 

hero reminded me of Jack Ford; sometimes of Mr. 
Richard. 

I liked him awfully. 

The parts I enjoyed most are the descriptions 
of the country. When I read, I almost forgot the 
heat. The stuffy little room melted away and I 
was treading broad commons, looking up into the 
high skies and across the scorched grass to blue 
valleys; what a fascinating country it must be, 
where the ground opens in great smiling rifts, 
patterned with woods and old stone farms and 
little hill towns on the ramparts of the ridges. 

It gives one quite a new idea of country people ; 
I have always read of them as being very strong 
and primitive, a type apart, much simpler than the 
people we know in ordinary life. Country people 
in books always have great love affairs, in fact, 
think of little else; remember the sweethearts of 
their youth all their lives; are revengeful, and 
slow-witted. I think the word I want is elemental. 

But the country people in father’s book remind 
me of Miss Beckles before she became a Suffragette 
and Miss Patten. They are as genteel as the latter. 
In fact, I grew rather tired of reading about their 
petty squabbles, and the fuss they made of tiny 
slips from etiquette, and the trivialities they 


350 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

thought important. I could understand the hero 
feeling he was in a cage of white mice. 

The struggle to get on, and cut a figure, and be 
powerful, which seemed the leading motif in the 
little town, reminded me of the City on a small 
scale. 

The love story of the hero was very pretty at 
first, though, when he is such a hero to the girl in the 
farmhouse, who’s yearning for London and sees 
this young man as a fairy prince; but it’s so sad 
when they come up and the young man can’t take 
her about to places, and they have to live in 
stuffy rooms, and she finds she has to work as she 
did at home. Then she becomes jealous of their 
own child ; and the hero daren’t pet her or make a 
friend of her; the mother is so jealous of the child 
becoming educated and refined like the father. 
This part was very painful, and I don’t think, true 
to life. No mother could feel anything but ambi- 
tion for her child’s welfare. 

The most harrowing part is where the man 
cannot succeed, and won’t approach his family, 
though he knows he ought to, for the sake of his 
wife and child. Because he knows the wife would 
be so impressed by the wealth and social position 
of his people, that she would insist on his obeying 


THe VanisKing Bread 351 

them, and then he would be in another cage again, 
and he must have freedom. As I read this, I 
could not help thinking how I yearned for freedom, 
and how glad I was when I was by myself, and 
could work out my own destiny. I wanted to get 
free from my people just as much as the hero 
wanted to get free from his family of relatives, all 
interfering in his work and thinking he should do 
exactly the opposite from what he wanted to. 

But I thought the hero was a little hard here; 
looking back, I can see how dreadfully hard that 
desire for freedom makes one. I would just give 
anything if I could be back with father, and be 
cheery and kind as Jack Ford used to be to me. It 
doesn’t do anything much, but oh, it makes all the 
difference when things aren’t going well, if there’s 
someone interested and friendly, who at the same 
time, doesn’t want to boss you and criticise. 

I can’t help thinking that if father had had 
someone to take an interest and buck him up and 
love him, he would have got on better. The last 
years, he was so listless. I wish I’d asked to read 
his stuff. I never thought of such a thing. I never 
dreamed he could write anything worth while 
when he was so unsuccessful and unpractical. 
The book is sad, sadder than the poems, but all 


352 On tHe FigKting Line 

through you feel the people are worrying through 
to something better; there is a certainty that 
sometime (perhaps in heaven), the muddling and 
misunderstanding will finish and the people will 
step out free and happy. 

Father’s people were worrying through to some- 
thing worth while: though one is left, not knowing 
exactly what is going to become of them. 

I’ve grown awfully fond of father, reading this 
book. 

Now, when I think of his patience, I want to 
help him; the chance hasn’t gone, for his writings 
are here, and I can work for them. They are a 
part of father; the part of his thoughts he valued 
most, or he wouldn’t have written them down. 

Oh, it is a godsend to have something else to 
think about, someone else to work for, at this time, 
when London seems a blank wall of brass or 
granite against which I may hurl myself in vain, 
for ever. 

August lyth, Tuesday, 

Mr. Richard passed me in Piccadilly. He was 
with two ladies, oh, so beautifully dressed, and 
confident, and chattering. They were talking to 
someone in an auto, by the Ritz ; Mr. Richard was 


355 


TKe VanisKing Bread 

sprucer than ever, and handsomer; sunburn suits 
him. The little group was like a picture, standing 
out against the dusty street; all gay and friendly 
and laughing out appointments as if they lived for 
^ nothing but to command pleasure. They could 
take what they liked from London, flash about 
hither and thither, bright and beautiful. 

I felt so far removed, I had a good look at them 
as I went by; I couldn’t imagine myself with Mr. 
Richard now. We only came together because we 
were boxed up in the Alliance office, and now I’ve 
left there isn’t a link between us. The hot, dusty 
pavement, the tiring heat, the long, long walk to 
Battersea were the realities that occupied me; 
'Mr. Richard didn’t help people like me, he only 
rubbed in the shame of being poor and insignificant. 
He had called me Jasmine because I shone in the 
grey, but he didn’t belong to the grey. He belonged 
to the warmth in which red roses grew. 

I suppose Carol thought I was seeing him and 
writing to him; she said he would drift along be- 
cause he dare not break it off. She didn’t under- 
stand that he could drift along, doing nothing, 
until I had the sense to see it was hopeless. Carol 
didn’t understand I could love Mr. Richard, and 
yet not want to see him 


23 


354 On tHe FigHting Line 

All that she did by coming to me, was to tell me 
something that has made me determine never to 
write to him again. If I turn aside, he’ll go on 
being happy in his own world until he’s forgotten 
all about the business. It will end, naturally, of 
itself. 

I could laugh to think how important Carol 
thinks he is; I’ve the rent to pay, there’s only 
enough meal for once, and I’ve got to keep part of 
father’s guinea for stamps; it’s only honourable. 
It’s awful how quickly money goes when rent and 
food have to come out of it. I haven’t heard if the 
editor likes the other poems. He may be away; 
everyone is away now. 

I wish I were. It is so hot. 

August 2 1 st, 

I’ve put all father’s poems together and mean 
to get them published in a book. They’ve been 
such a help to me. I want other people to be able 
to carry them about and read them, and fight on. 

I shall go into a bookshop and see who publishes 
poetry books. It will mean a lot of money, but 
to-day I feel I shall get father’s work through. 
It seems mad to hope for this, when I can’t earn 
anything for my own living, but I must get some 


THe VanisKing Bread 355 

work soon, and then every penny I can save, shall 
go to publishing father’s book. 

Sunday y August 22d, 

I’ve been taken right up to an open window, 
behind which is everything I’d love to have. 
There wasn’t even any glass between. I could 
stretch out my hand and touch anything. Only 
I was the other side of the window, and at any 
moment the glass might come down, and the blind. 
The glass and the blind are both down now. 

I went to Kensington Gardens this afternoon, 
to pretend I was in the country. It was lonelier 
than ever sitting on a bench and watching the 
hurrying, happy people; heaps of foreigners in 
bright Sunday clothes, with noticeable shoes and 
stockings, and confident, adventurous eyes. The 
usual rabble of slum children tumbled on the grass ; 
dirty, untidy little things, like scum cast up by the 
bright, hastening, human tides. I rather wonder at 
them being let in. They so palpably don’t belong 
to the leisured, well-kept air of these Gardens where 
every flower is ticketed and precious and tended 
in the most scientific manner possible. The ele- 
gant dogs that run about, and the healthy well- 
washed, well-groomed children with their nurses, 


356 


On tHe FigHting Line 


are in their right places here. But these dirty, 
unkempt creatures spoil the Gardens and make 
them shabby-looking. 

I was sitting there, grousing away, feeling im- 
utterably alone and cut off from comfort and 
elegance, and longing for it till I nearly burst, 
when a friend dropped out of the skies — the Bird 
Boy. 

I might have been a truly friend from the 
delighted way in which he hailed me, and sat down 
by me as naturally as if he had met his sister or 
cousin or something. He was frightfully smart 
to-day in a tail-coat and topper and beautiful 
gloves ; he glittered with sleekness and fashionable- 
ness and perfect grooming. 

He asked how the sky parlour was, and if I’d 
seen Jack Ford lately, and said London was at its 
best in August; one could begin to digest it and 
get the taste of it a little ; the rest of the year was 
spent in bolting it down. I couldn’t taste anything 
but oatmeal at the moment, I don’t believe I’ll 
ever get rid of the taste. When he said he was 
going to Jack Ford’s to tea, and asked me to come 
too, and see the new house, I couldn’t resist the 
temptation of sitting down to proper cake and 
tea and bread and butter, though I knew Jack 


TKe VanisHing Bread 357 

Ford would have asked me himself if he’d wanted 
me to come. But at a certain point, the finer 
feelings become blunted. I wanted company so 
badly; I wanted to go into a nice house in Ken- 
sington and be with people who would chatter and 
laugh. I tried to say no, but I couldn’t. 

It was jolly to be walking along with someone; 
I enjoyed his spruceness; I was let in to the gay, 
smart company, and no longer a slum person. 
The Bird Boy was so nice, too. He said he always 
allowed himself adventures on Sunday, as a rest 
from the tedium of the respectable week, and he 
suddenly stopped behind a little girl in boots to her 
knees, a short full-skirted satin coat, and babyish 
white hat, and whispered that he was certain she 
was an Infant Star. She was attended or pro- 
prieted by two snuffy women in black, ambling 
along conversing together and watching the glances 
cast at the child who rejoiced further in long flaxen 
curls. We escorted them the whole length of the 
Flower Walk, and the Bird Boy only stopped 
because he was laughing so hard, he had to get his 
breath. 

The child was kicking a pebble with immense 
viciousness as if the original sin and vulgarity in 
her defied boots, silk stockings, satin coats, and 


358 On tHe Fig'Kting' Line 

relatives. The Bird Boy called her “ Little Vera, ** 
I thought her a Little Beast. Though of course 
her commonness was funny. 

But oh, it was jolly to be laughing with someone, 
and enjoying myself like everybody else. 

Then we left the Gardens and climbed up a 
steep hill, with charming small houses in gardens, 
and came out on the top, into the quaintest small 
street, a sort of Jane Austen row, on cobbled stones 
with spick and span railings in front of the houses, 
and window-boxes, and brilliant knockers, and 
silk curtains in the windows. I don’t think I’ve 
ever seen anything so small and expensive and 
aristocratic. There was such an old-world calm up 
here, that I felt hushed and diffident; but the 
Bird Boy strode along with easy confidence as if 
the street belonged to him, and when we stopped 
before a tiny white house with a bright blue door, 
he looked up to the top window and whistled. 

Oddly enough, the row of tiny houses reminded 
me of our doors on the top landing in Battersea; 
they had the same denny look — and when Jack 
Ford poked his head out of the window and called 
out, “Half a sec,” I felt at home. 

He was just the same, smiling and square and 
cheery, for all his elegant light suit and spandy tie. 


TKe VanisKing Bread 359 

Just the same in the wring of the hand he gave me, 
and the drawling greeting, “Why, it’s Minette, 
how awfully jolly!” Just the same in the way he 
led us up the most toy-box little staircase; up and up, 
till we came out into a room which astonished one 
by its size; a room with beams and rafters like our 
rooms, and with big windows each end overlook- 
ing trees. But there the resemblance stopped. 
The room was elegantly furnished. The carpet 
was so thick, one sank into it; there was a grand 
piano, polished rosewood cabinets crammed with 
china, heavily upholstered couches, heaps of pic- 
tures; it was a real Kensington drawing-room, and 
the tea-set on the tea-table was of soHd silver, 
sparkling till it dazzled me. 

A silver tea-kettle was bubbling over a spirit- 
lamp, and he made tea and waited on us, and I sat 
in a luxurious armchair and ate thin bread and 
butter again, and cakes with sugar on the top, and 
thought how silly I was not to have known I could 
always creep into Jack Ford’s rooms, wherever he 
was, and he would always be glad to see me, and 
kind. He was so kind now; pointing out the 
tennis club, and the gardens behind, and saying 
he’d meant to come and see me, and he must do so 
now he knew I was in town. 


360 On tKe FigHting Line 

Then the Bird Boy sat down and played, and 
Jack Ford jumped up and said he wanted to try 
over something, and the Bird Boy and he made 
music; I asked him to sing, “When I am laid in 
earth,’’ and I was back in the happy days, and 
Jack Ford was again singing the sadness out of 
me. Yet, in a way, he was different ; I thought then 
it was his smart clothes, maybe, and the easy way 
in which he moved about and belonged to all the 
elegance. But there was something else. 

I am an idiot to be disappointed ; I am an idiot 
to have idealised him. 

Somehow, when a frou-frou of silken noises 
swished on the stair, I knew. I can see Carol 
running up, and standing stock still as she caught 
sight of me, looking as if she’d seen a ghost, and 
then slowly reddening. Jack Ford was redder, too. 
For an awkward moment Carol looked at us, as if 
asking explanation. 

The Bird Boy was the first to greet her; then 
Jack Ford said it was a gathering of the clans, and 
I told her I had been brought to see the new house. 

Carol settled onto the sofa, studiously polite, as 
if she were the hostess, and could rise to any 
circumstances, however trying. 

“I thought you’d come to offer congratulations, 


XHe VanisKing Dread 361 

possibly,” said she, swaying her foot and leaning 
back as if she owned the room and Jack Ford. 

I hope she has congratulated you. Jack, with 
proper appreciation.” 

I had known, somehow, directly she had come. 
But my heart jig-jagged up and down, all the same, 
when she said this. I said I hadn’t known it was 
announced, and Jack Ford said hastily he thought 
I knew. 

Then Carol said engaged people were the most 
tiresome of all species of humanity, and she could 
not understand why innocent people allowed them- 
selves to be bored by listening to the plans of 
self-centred, egotistic idiots, and now she had to 
talk carpets and china. 

It was a pretty straight hint. 

Jack Ford went redder and redder, and said he 
never wanted to enter a furniture shop or see a 
catalogue again for the rest of his mortal days 
and wanted the Bird Boy to stay and have some 
music, but the Bird Boy had another call to pay, 
and of course I couldn’t stay without him. 

When we got outside, however, the Bird Boy 
didn’t seem to be in a hurry, but said he was going 
to take me for a country walk, and dipped through 
a couple of streets till we came to quite a good 


362 On tKe Fi^Htin^ Line 

pretence at a lane. A boarded fence overhung 
with trees, ran along beside us, and opposite were 
the backs of gardens with lovely flowers and fruit- 
trees. The lane wound along, until a wall cropped 
up, and we were in an alley of trees, and might have 
been in the country, it was so shady and bird- 
filled and green. The Bird Boy said it was like 
Versailles and Le Petit Trianon, with a touch of 
Queen Anne. Old Seadogs and Maiden Ladies 
lived in the houses, burnt night lights, had mantel- 
shelves of Bristol Glass, chests of Sheffield Plate, 
dined off Nankin china, and talked to parrots, and 
embroidered worsted fire-screens in their spare 
time when they weren't drinking tea with one an- 
other. Old Seadogs adored Orange Pekoe, and 
that's why they always chose houses next door 
to Maiden Ladies when they settled down. He 
said he thought there was a clause in the lease 
of every house at the top of Campden Hill, that 
it must be let exclusively to Admirals or Maiden 
Ladies. 

I asked how Jack Ford came there, and he 
explained his Aunt was a Maiden Lady of the most 
Maidenly kind, and if Jack and Carol ever did go 
through with it, they would have to take a flat, as 
Carol belonged to the order of people who must 


THe VanisHing Bread 363 

live in a fiat in Kensington. Personally, a fiat 
would give him asphyxia. 

He rattled along, while I walked beside him, 
marvelling at his invention, and very glad he was 
in such a talkative mood for I didn’t feel I had an 
idea on any sub j ect imder the sun . Everything was 
as fiat and drab as if I had been pressed out by 
a steam roller. Jack Ford had gone from my life 
when he moved, but now he was marrying Carol 
and going to live in a fiat in Kensington his 
memory seemed to have been taken away from me, 
too, and not till now, did I realise how much his 
memory had meant to me. It was worse than if 
he had died. 

I ought to have known Jack Ford better than 
to believe he would let me be turned out of his 
house, and not mind. 

For we heard a frantic whistle, and it dawned 
on us it was meant for us, and looking back, there 
he was posting along, crimson with heat. He 
came up, fanning himself with his straw hat, 
breathless. He had followed us after he had put 
Carol in a taxi, and had thought we were racing 
on, on purpose; we must have heard him whistling. 

Of course we hadn’t, of course we never dreamed 
of his coming after; we had thought him settled 


3^4 


On tHe Fi^Hting Line 


there for the afternoon. He said, oh no, he had to 
have a walk after having been in all day, and then 
seemed to shake off Carol from his mind, and we 
were three friends, staring at the backs of the 
gardens and trying to look over and just having 
fun. It is astonishing how interesting everything 
is when he is there. If I saw him every minute of 
my life, I should never feel I had seen enough of 
him. 

I was almost happy again; happier than I’d 
been for a long time, since he left, in fact; when we 
turned a comer and I stopped dead. We had 
come to more backs of houses; piled up against 
the garden wall, was a hill of bread, half-way up 
the wall and straggling across the sidewalk. Beau- 
tiful bread, white and brown, whole loaves with a 
handful of crumb tom out, half loaves, pieces, 
rolls of all shapes and sizes, toast, and above all 
bread, bread, bread in the whitest, cmstiest 
twists and loaves. Some loaves weren’t even 
touched. 

The sight of the mound of fresh good food 
thrown out into the road, was the most sensational 
sight I have ever come across. And oh, the wicked- 
ness of throwing it away, when I hadn’t tasted 
bread for days. It was like throwing away life. 


XKe VanisKing Bread 365 

I couldn’t go on. I stood and looked. For 
the moment I couldn’t believe I was seeing 
rightly. 

And it was there, for anyone to take away, out 
in the public road. I could fill my arms with those 
delicious little rolls, topped with a great loaf, three 
or four. Some looked new. I could carry back 
food for a week. 

And there stood the Bird Boy and Jack Ford, 
wondering why I had stopped. 

“I say, what a shame!” said Jack Ford. 

“My dear Jack, they can’t help it in big kit- 
chens; it’s all stale bread or pieces,” I heard the 
Bird Boy argue. 

“I’m quite sure there’s no excuse for chucking 
it in the dirt, ” said Jack Ford. “ It’s the insolence 
I object to.” 

They were wrangling over whether it was right 
or wrong; and I stood a few yards off, and there 
was nothing but my insane pride to keep me from 
going over and filling my arms with it. 

And a nice sight I should look, carrying an 
armful of bread through London. 

And the two men would know, and would pity 
me, and send me food anonymously; or Carol 
would come and call in her clever way and drop 


366 On tKe FigHtin^ Line 

some money on the floor by accident, and they 
would all be shocked. 

“Don’t you think the sun makes it an awfully 
pretty colour?” said I to the Bird Boy. 

“ So it does, ” said he. 

I swung round; I couldn’t look at it ; I should cry 
with mortiflcation at having to stand there, argu- 
ing about it and not daring to take it. If I could 
get rid of them, I could come back, and sneak a 
loaf. 

“Well, I’ve got to go home,” said I. 

The Bird Boy suggested they should come back 
with me and have a picnic in Jack Ford’s old 
rooms, but I said it would be too melancholy. I 
said. Good-bye, in so pointed a way that I shook 
them off at last, in the Gardens. I daren’t go 
back at once, so I hung round for an hour. Then 
I tried to And my way back. I think I found the 
right street, but there was no bread there. I went 
circulating through alleys and avenues and back 
parts, till it grew dusk, the late warm dusk of 
August. But the bread had gone. 

If the two of them hadn’t seen it, I should have 
thought it was a vision. 

There is a fatality about me. I can never go 
back! If only I’d made a joke of it, pretended to 


XKe VanisKing Bread 367 

be rather hard-up this particular week end, laugh- 
ably said I’d economise my bread bill, made fun of 
it! Then they need never have suspected any- 
thing. I believe the Bird Boy would have helped 
me carry it. Oh, I shall never forget that mound of 
bread. 

Yes, Campden Hill is like Versailles, and I 
wonder that the mob doesn’t thimder up it, and 
break open those back doors and pull out the 
treasures of Sheffield plate and Bristol glass — 
and bread I 

And I grudged the slum babies the dried grass 
and dusty trees; I, who have pushed into a house 
in Aubrey Walk, and sat on a damask chair, and 
forced myself amongst the people who Hve natur- 
ally there, whilst all the time, I am hungry for 
bread yes — covet the bread their servants throw 
out into the road. 

August 23d, Monday. 

Three guineas for the poems, and one sent back. 

If I could only keep all this for the book. If 
only I had somewhere, where I could stay till 
autumn, so that I could save my board and rent. 
I can’t give up my little room and sell the furni- 
ture, and yet, something deep inside is telling me 


368 On tHe FigHting' Line 

I ought to make the sacrifice, and I’ll never get 
father’s book published till I’ve really been un- 
selfish. I was hard to him because I longed for 
freedom — I’ve got to give up that freedom now 
before I can make up ever so little, for what I 
didn’t do for him when he was here. 

August 24th y Tuesday, 

I’ve written to Aunt Minnie, asking if I might 
come for a visit, and help her, as she offered. 

August 2ythy Friday. 

Aunt Minnie says yes. She writes like a servant. 
She fives at Woodbine Villa in a Road. One can’t 
conceive of Villas in the country. She will be glad 
of some help with the children as her Lady’s Help 
has just left, so my coming “will suit, nicely.” 

I never realised there would be children now. 
Aunt Minnie was mother’s youngest sister, of 
course, but one thinks of her as a contemporary. 
Oh dear, they will be my cousins. 

I am an idiot to feel so snobbish; they have 
every right to feel snobbish about me, living in an 
attic, with no lady’s help, not even a charwoman. 
But fife in a London attic is not genteel. And 
Aunt Minnie’s letter is exactly what she is and the 


TKe VanisHing Bread 369 

beastly little Totties and Alberts that will cling 
round my neck 

I must pull myself together. If I am going to 
make a sacrifice, let it be done decently. 

The country will be lovely; it’s awfully good of 
her to have me when I snubbed her so at father’s 
funeral; and I’ll work like a nigger so that I earn 
my board twice over. 

That’s the best I can do, at present. 

Now I’ve got to see about getting rid of my 
furniture. 

August 28 thj Saturday, 

My room isn’t to go; not yet, not entirely, oh^ 
I could sing and sing for joy. I couldn’t bear 
the thought of my little home being broken up. 
Though there is that possibility — Sarah is fimny. 

Little did I think when I started down the 
Strand with father’s book, that the banners and 
News placards of the Suffragettes bore my release 
from trouble in their train. For giving up my sky 
parlour was the hardest thing of all. As long as it 
is mine, I have a nook in London. 

Who should thrust The Suffragette in my face 
but Miss Beckles, as unconscious of my identity 
as I was of hers, until I spoke. It was a surprise 


24 


370 On tHe FigHting Line 

to see her in the street at eleven in the morning, 
and then she explained she was on her hoHday and 
had thrown in her lot unreservedly with the W. 
S. P. U. for the fortnight. Miss Patten was still 
at the Alhance and everybody else, and they 
missed me awfully. The conversation was punctu- 
ated with dabs at the passers-by and the sale of a 
Suffragette^ so I was able to evade news of myself, 
except that I was out on business for the person 
I was working for at present (father) . She asked 
what line of work, and I said he was a writer. She 
said she’d often thought of trying for a secretary- 
ship, and I let it rest at that. In a way, it was 
true. And I could not let anyone at the Alliance 
guess I was still out of a job. 

Then she told me she’d lately met a friend of 
mine, whose name she had forgotten, but who was 
somewhere up the Strand, by Norfolk Street. If 
I went up I should see her. I was very curious to 
know who it could be, for I should have said I 
hadn’t a friend in the world. The Suffragette was 
brandished at me rather uncomfortably as I 
peered into the eager faces, and I was beginning 
to feel a precious threepence would soon have to 
come out, when, all alone, like a young maenad, 
brooding eyes, dark wisps of hair, tense slimness, 


TKe VanisKin^ Bread 371 

Standing fiercely and proudly on the kerb — ^yes, it 
was Sarah! 

She refused to speak to me until I had bought a 
Suffragette, her eyes looked as if they would blast 
me if I didn’t, so I forked out. I had felt the 
pennies coming to the surface all the way along. 

Then Sarah told me she was needing a room, and 
had thought Jack Ford’s diggings might serve her 
purpose, and were they still to let and she should 
try and look in to-night if she could get the key, 
and perhaps I’d let her have a light. 

I didn’t see it was the answer to my prayer. I 
only thought what ill luck it was that she should 
be coming just as I was going away. How blind 
we are — ^how blind, — and how patient the Some- 
thing is who keeps on, offering us chances. 

Sarah turned up all right, and we unlocked Jack 
Ford’s door. His name is still upon it. It was an 
ordeal to go into the bare, deserted rooms. The 
dirt that had accumulated was unthinkable. Sarah 
came back with me, visibly depressed. Then she 
told me she had particular reasons for not wanting 
anyone to know her whereabouts; if workmen or 
charwomen came trooping up, the secret would be 
out, and yet, at the same time, she could not live 
in such a pig-sty. Nor could she spare any time to 


372 


On tHe Fighting Line 

put things right herself ; every moment was now of 
priceless value. 

“I’d help,” said I, “only I’m going to Glowces- 
tershire as soon as I can make arrangements for 
selling my furniture and giving up my room; or 
letting it furnished.” 

And then, of course, we were staring at each 
other, seeing the answer. 

Sarah insisted on paying me ten shillings a week, 
which gives me four shillings clear profit. She 
also said she would replace anything damaged, 
and added darkly that I must take away anything 
I wanted to keep safe. “For no one knows what 
may happen,” said she cryptically. 

“ I know the grease sometimes spatters the mat. 
I ought to get a bigger frying-pan,” said I, mean- 
ing to be comforting. But Sarah glared at me as if 
I were too irredeemably trivial for words, and said 
she had other contingencies to face. Then she 
looked out of the window and said she had noticed 
the leads and fire escape the first time she’d been 
to Jack Ford’s. 

Of course I thought then she was afraid of fire; 
but no; as I was so idiotically commonplace, she 
had to explain she would probably be raided, and 
wanted the room for purposes too sinister to be 


TKe VanisHing Bread 373 

disclosed. I said I would take away the tin box, 
and all my clothes. 

But Sarah, who is really most dramatic, like 
a detective in a story, asked how much I would 
take to leave my thick long coat and winter hat 
behind, in case she wanted a disguise? It might 
suit her occasionally to look like me ! 

My brain whirled to know what advantage this 
would be to anyone. But as money was the main 
thing, and this was a definite offer, I said five 
shillings, with the promise of paying enough to 
buy new things if she had to go down the fire 
escape in them. 

Sarah agreed to this willingly, and paid me, 
there and then, a month’s rent in advance and the 
five shillings, and was only too glad to be able to 
come in on Monday. 

It seems incredible that I should be sitting here 
with the rent off my mind, my fare and enough for 
new shoes, and father’s three guineas intact; and 
a home and board for nothing after Monday. 

And now I’ve got to pack and leave the place 
spotless for Sarah. I wonder if she’ll keep my 
saucepans clean. 


CHAPTER XVII 


WOODBINE VILLA 
September ythy Monday. 

T ONDON is as far away as if it had never been. 
^ The air is fresh and clean, and the great 
winds sweep in from the ocean over the plain be- 
low, and the table-land on which this little town 
is perched, though one can hardly call it a town. 
The factories don’t huddle round it but extend in a 
leisurely, unfettered way into the valleys, and there 
is no smoke and dirt round them. The little 
stone houses form orderly villages about their 
rectangular walls, and flowers and pigs and chick- 
ens flourish, and the hills enclose them with smil- 
ing fields and woody places. 

The hills peep into the town at the end of every 
street, and the roads where the people live straggle 
along the sides of the valleys so that almost every 
house has a nice view. And the shop-windows are 
filled with chums and saddles and agricultural 
374 


Woodbine Villa 


375 


implements and bacon and cheese and country- 
looking fruit, and there are gay windows full of 
bright clothes and hats, and some of the shops 
have quite a London flourish about their goods, 
and some are old-fashioned and homely like the 
people who jog in on carts or tramp along the 
dusty roads with such stout umbrellas. 

It isn’t a beautiful town, but there’s something 
cosey and countrified about it; it’s more friendly 
than London. But best are the rolling commons, 
up and down, over the hilltops, with huge clouds 
drifting their shadows across the burnt grass, or 
floating high, high. Oh, the freedom of the valleys 
that twist and turn and vanish into infinite dis- 
tance, and the woods that go climbing over the 
ridges and the little villages and hamlets clustered 
on the hills, each with plenty of room to breathe 
in. And oh, the freedom of the roads on the 
wide commons, with no walls or hedges, just white 
ribbons laid upon the grass, and all the hillsides 
free to scamper over, so that one wants to run 
everywhere at once. 

Horses gallop on the grass by themselves, free 
as anyone else, cows stroll by, shaggy dogs take the 
air, with no sign of a human being attached to 
them. There’s plenty of room on these sweeping 


376 On tKe FigHting Line 

commons for men and beasts, and no one’s afraid 
of each other but frolic about and pursue their 
business in comfort. 

And onto this wonderful panorama of freedom, 
I look from a packed little house, tight-packed with 
tight little people whose minds are about as elastic 
and responsive as — as — buttons. 

Woodbine Villa is one of a row of little houses in 
a road that is trying to be suburban as hard as it 
can, and is only frustrated by the blue hills that 
will poke in between the trees and scattered villas 
opposite. We have a long strip of garden in front 
with a wonderful display of chrysanthemums and 
asters, again refusing to look townlike. Every 
window glitters like a diamond, the curtains are 
snowy-white, and the front-door knocker winks at 
you. Inside, the house reeks of furniture polish, 
the linoleum glistens, the stained pine wainscoting, 
the glazed wall-papers, the fire-irons, the millions 
of ornaments contribute their separate sparkles. 
Aunt Minnie is house-proud. 

She thinks of nothing else. She is always 
saying, “Let your light so shine,” and believes 
she acts up to it, top-notch. 

All other forms of female activity are to her 
superfluous and unchristian, and she considers 


Woodbine Villa 


377 


every woman who lives in a large house and keeps 
more than one small maid (she has a charwoman) 
frivolous and worldly. She pities everyone who 
doesn’t fit into Woodbine Villa, which is her ideal 
in size and everything else, of a Christian home. 
She pities the people who have to live in London 
even more. I like the cosiness and cleanness, if 
only she would let other people alone, especially 
London people. 

She seems to be suspicious of me because I come 
from London, and persists in thinking I am looking 
down on country ways of living, or rather Wood- 
bine Villa ways, for Aunt Minnie does not consider 
Scroose the country. She talks of it as if it were a 
large provincial town; in fact she says some of 
their shops are better than London ones, and 
as good as any in Cheltenham and Gloster. I 
stupidly happened to speak of the lunch hour, and 
so she apologizes every day for not having late 
dinner, another London habit and a bad one. I’ve 
told her over and over again that I haven’t enjoyed 
anything so much in my life as her meals, but I 
don’t feel she’ll ever forget that stupid use of the 
word ‘‘lunch.” 

Yet, underneath all the worritting, she is so 
kind, and works so hard, and it’s naturally difficult 


37^ On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

to understand such a very different point of view; 
and she can’t understand me not criticizing her 
ways of living just as she criticizes London ones. 
I don’t think she could believe the ostentatious 
worldly folk who live in London, can see a midday 
dinner of good meat and vegetables and pudding, 
as a rare treat. To say nothing of hot breakfast 
every morning! 

I think she sees me rather as I see Carol, and 
my spring suit which is very slightly slit up the 
middle, affects her as Carol’s clothes affected me. 
Aunt Minnie makes all her clothes herself, and the 
name of a London firm inside the collar is a sort of 
hall-mark of fashion and extravagance. 

Uncle Samuel is as proud of Scroose as Aunt 
Minnie of her house; he talks about it much as 
a Westerner might talk about the prairie town 
which he has helped to build. Uncle Samuel 
said he must take me to see the traffic on Saturday 
night; it would make me think I was back in 
London, only he’d never seen London so thick in 
one spot ; we went out accordingly and perambu- 
lated round a block of shops. The streets were 
full; groups of men and boys stood about in the 
road; clusters of little girls, and women with 
baskets and families, passed, and stared into the 


Woodbine Villa 


379 


shops, and several buses stood along the kerb, 
such quaint country buses with straw in them. 
The whole area was easily traversed in seven 
minutes. Beyond these famous shops the little 
streets strayed off into solitary darkness. Uncle 
Samuel talked a lot about how amazing it was 
the crowds kept in this one particular spot, and 
brought forward a lot of reasons why this was so, 
one of them being that this state of things had 
existed ever since he was a lad. 

It would be inhuman to suggest that Scroose is 
a darling pocket handkerchief toy-box little town 
that one wants to put on a mantelshelf and play 
with. 

Like Archibald’s and Jennie’s farm. 

Which brings me to the children, who certainly 
don’t cling round me. Up to the present they 
have steadfastly refused to take any notice of me ; 
they belong to my eldest cousin Martha, who has 
married and gone out to India with her husband, 
leaving the babies with their grandmother; Aunt 
Minnie is young to be that, but then the babies 
are very small mites of grandchildren. 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen such small trousers 
as Archibald’s; they are about as big as my dress- 
cuffs, and his little legs twinkle about in them in a 


380 On tHe FigHting Line 

way that makes me want to laugh and cry together; 
it’s so brave of them to be running about by them- 
selves like that. 

Archibald has beautiful brown eyes, a cupid’s 
mouth (such a speck of pink), chubby cheeks, and 
indomitable energy. The Httle fat legs in their 
absurd tweed trousers not quite to his knee, 
twinkle round from the minute he gets up until 
he goes to bed. He wears in addition a white 
jersey, in which he looks like a cheese maggot, so 
compact and long, somehow. 

Jennie is four years old and mothers him. She 
is such a ‘Tittle girl.” She wears a pinafore and 
short skirts and is very busy with her dolls. Archi- 
bald obeys her implicitly except when the man in 
him has to do great things beyond the woman’s 
sphere, and he rises up and rends a doll to pieces 
or flings his ball out of the window or does some- 
thing heroically sinful like that. From a certain 
sombre light in Archibald’s deep eyes I should say 
there is more original sin in him than there is in 
Jennie, though on the other hand I can imagine 
him rising to greater heights of resolution. 

Jennie is an unselflsh little thing, and smiles 
benignly when Archibald indulges his masculine 
propensities, even when her own things suffer; 


W^oodbine Villa 381 

she feels so very much older than him, and repeats 
his little sayings with immense amusement. 

I wish they would make friends. They retreat 
into Aunt Minnie’s skirts when I approach, and 
won’t go out with me. Yesterday Jennie brought 
me a picture-book and looked at it with me until 
Aunt Minnie came in and exclaimed, when she 
rapidly retreated and has not noticed me since. 
Still, they didn’t cry when Aunt Minnie made 
them say “ Good-moming ” to-day, so I suppose 
they are getting more used to me. It is so funny 
to watch them pursuing their funny little occupa- 
tions all day long, such worlds apart from us. Shall 
we, older and wiser, ever look down from another 
world and see mankind as children, pursuing 
trivialities as if they counted, all day long? 

How good children are to be amused and happy 
with so little. 

September 12th, Sunday, 

I cut my finger to-day; I’d bandaged it, and had 
almost forgotten about it, when two small arms 
were suddenly thrust round my neck; Archibald 
had climbed onto the arm of the chair, and was 
comforting me ! Jennie stared solemnly from over 
her pictures, as Archibald consented to be drawn 


382 On tKe Fi^Kting Line 

onto my knee and rocked; then she pretended to 
have business near, and presently deigned to be 
amused at Archibald’s prattle about a dog, which 
he had seen that morning and had wagged his 
tail. Relations being established without loss of 
dignity, Jennie allowed herself to be drawn up 
with Archibald, and both cuddled up and listened 
to a story. I could hardly believe the little 
things were there. It was as if birds had suddenly 
flown into my hand. 

September ijthy Monday. 

Aunt Minnie was both surprised and impressed 
with how I cleaned the brass to-day. 

September I4thy Tuesday. 

I helped Aunt Minnie turn out her room to-day, 
and came upon a photo of mother when she was a 
girl; she must have been a little beauty. From 
the way Aunt Minnie spoke, I could see she had 
been very proud of mother. 

September i$th^ Wednesday. 

I am getting very tired of the way Aunt Minnie 
keeps on about London people; she appears to 
consider every London man as an abandoned ver- 


"Woodbine Villa 


383 


sion of Mr. Richard, without any sense of re- 
sponsibility, love of home, or sterling quali- 
ties. She also seems to think all London men 
are proud and fashionable, moving in circles of 
ostentatious and heartless Society. She is always 
comparing Uncle Samuel with them, much to 
Uncle's advantage. He is a prize specimen of a 
Husband and Father, able to provide a home for 
those dependent on him, regular at business, 
respected in his town, on the Parish Council, and 
a Deacon. I do think Uncle Samuel a good sort 
in his way, and I like to hear him prattle about the 
town (much as Jennie enjoys Archie’s prattle; 
I’m afraid, one can’t help feeling so jolly superior) ; 
but why compare Uncle Samuel with these mythi- 
cal London men? I don’t know where Aunt 
Minnie has come across them. It can’t be in the 
pages of society novels, as she never reads any- 
thing except a strange little woman’s weekly 
about housekeeping and Missions. 

September 18th, Saturday, 

Another cheque! Five guineas for a Sonnet 
Sequence; I thought a Review might like them, 
and I was right. 

I do feel bucked. I thought nothing was going 


384 On tHe Fi^Kting Line 

to be taken again. But this has given me new 
courage, and it can all be set aside. Sarah’s 
money over and above the rent, keeps me in 
stamps, and I need nothing here, for myself. No 
fares, no laimdry even. And Uncle Samuel in- 
sists on my having ‘'pocket-money” as I am 
helping Aunt Minnie; two and six a week. It is 
awfully good of him. 

I mean to read through the novel again. The 
days go like lightning and there is so much sewing 
to do at night. We make everything for the babies 
and they do tumble about so; there are always 
buttons off and stockings through, bless them. 

But Aunt Minnie likes me to get out every day, 
and I must take out the precious manuscript and 
read while the children play. 

September 20th^ Monday. 

I believe this is father’s own story. The house 
is exact. I never connected it before. Some 
descriptions of the town and common must have 
been written here. Can Aunt Minnie be thinking 
of father when she talks about London men? 
The hero in father’s novel is a reckless boy ; he is 
careless and light-hearted until he comes a cropper, 
and all his gaiety is blotted out and he is saddled — 


Woodbine Villa 


385 


saddled . . . Oh, could it be father? Could the 
vain, pretty little country-girl who burns out her 
heart longing for fashion and fun, be mother? 
Could mother have ever expected to know London 
society people, like Carol and Mr. Richard and 
the Bird Boy? Its incredible, incredible; mother 
with her prickly hesitancy about what people 
thought, her abashed, resentful air when father 
talked to me of people and places he had known 
and seen ; I always thought mother minded 
because she felt inferior. But Aunt Minnie 
resents my London habits because she feels supe- 
rior; could mother and Aunt Minnie and Uncle 
Samuel have looked down on father? Could 
they have felt resentful and at a disadvantage 
before him, because they disapproved of people 
knowing more than they did themselves? 

I can imagine Aunt Minnie expecting to know 
anyone, when she is so satisfied with herself. 
But she sees herself as a domestic person and has 
no yearnings for society. Evidently mother was 
considered a great belle in Scroose; then she mar- 
ried the brilliant young man down here on a read- 
ing party, and went to London, expecting to shine 
there, and found father was cut off from his 
fashionable relations, and wouldn't make friends 


25 


386 On the Fig'Kting Line 

with them, and instead of taking her about, 
struggled to write. And then I was there and she 
had to struggle to clothe me and couldn’t afford 
to send me to school, so she and father had to 
teach me, — oh, now I understand why mother 
wouldn’t let me learn Latin and Greek and mathe- 
matics and the things father was always wanting 
to start me on. She taught me to sew and clean. 
If she had lived, I never should have gone to the 
Polytechnic. But when she died, the fear of being 
left alone drove me to learn something useful. 
I suppose seeing father at home, nagged at and 
miserable, made me long so for a business life 
where one could go out every day, work in an 
office, feel independent, and bring home money 
every week, for an absolute certainty. 

I wonder if father thought country people simple 
and elemental when he fell in love with mother? 
When he wrote his book, he knew they minded 
about the externals, the pitiful gentilities of life, 
just as much as city people, far more than true 
Londoners who lived, as Jack Ford and I did, 
in the heart of the ramshackle warehouses, like 
sparrows on the roof. 

As I read the book now, I feel as if I have lived 
unconsciously through a tragedy: two human lives 


Woodbine Villa 


387 


squeezing each other to a miserable death ; father 
with his dreams and ideals and sensitive refine- 
ment, yearning for the world’s uplifting, and 
mother, eager for the petty vanities of life, and 
hating the man who couldn’t see they were import- 
ant. And I, their child, trusted mother because 
she was practical, and distrusted and despised 
father because I saw him with mother’s eyes; 
and yet, all the time, he had given me his love 
for something greater and wider than this grub- 
bing after social status, and preoccupation with our 
stomachs and our bodies, this scouring of pans 
and cooking of gravies. 

And now my father is my friend. 

Poor little mother. She has always been out of 
it. 

And yet it’s through mother, that I’m being fed 
and boarded now, and saving the money to pub- 
lish father’s book. 

I can’t believe anyone could come from this 
free country, and be wholly petty. 

And there are Archibald and Jennie rolling down 
the bank, squealing with rapture, enjoying the 
blue skies and warmth and sunshine like two 
puppies. What a mess they’re in; but oh, my 
goodness, do let them be happy while they can. 


388 On tKe Fighting' Line 

September 21 sty Tuesday. 

Oh, oh, life isn’t simple. I thought I had turned 
my back on all its problems; I thought I had cut 
off from Mr. Richard for ever. And now I have 
got to think back again, in a new light, for Carol 
was wrong. Mr. Richard had got into a mess 
with somebody else; I ought to have known he 
wouldn’t have talked about me to her like that. 
People are always turning out to be so much 
better than we think them. 

Now I find I can trust Mr. Richard; yes, though 
he writes to confess, I can trust him better than 
I have ever done, for he has been open with me. 

And he wrote directly he found out I had left, 
and of course could only send to my room, and 
Sarah forgot to send it on. He will think I didn’t 
answer because I was upset at his news. 

After thinking he cared nothing for me, his 
heart-broken letter is like wine, although he says 
he has thought of someone else, got into a mess 
with someone, behaved unworthily, but it’s over 
now, and will I ever forgive him? Will I ever 
trust him again? 

I only begin to trust him now. 

He says he deserves all he’s got, coming back 


Woodbine Villa 


389 


to find me gone, not knowing what’s become of me; 
now he wants to see me, wants to fix things up so 
that he can’t be such a traitor again. He asks me 
to save him from himself. It is just a big cry for 
help. And he has written to me, he says I can 
pull him up if I’ll forgive him. I suppose, if I 
wrote, he would come down here. 

Come down and meet Aunt Minnie and Uncle 
Samuel, and talk to us all in that unnatural, stuffy 
little drawing-room where we sit on Sunday in 
the small amount of space that isn’t occupied by 
Martha’s tambourines and fire screens and plaques 
and milking-stools, an awful procession of Martha’s 
artistic hobbies, from painting on satin to poker- 
work. 

I am trying to imagine Mr. Richard listening to 
Uncle Samuel on London. Uncle Samuel would 
rise to the occasion as he did the first night, with 
me. We should hear of his one expedition to the 
Hippodrome; and Aunt Minnie would lead the 
conversation to Mr. Richard’s views on Scroose, 
if she spoke at all, and Archibald and Jennie would 
retire into the nearest skirt and present uncom- 
promising backs. If I could only meet him 
out here on the Common with the children, it 
would be all right. Even Mr. Richard would 


390 On tHe FigHting Line 

succumb to Archibald. But I couldn^t meet 
him secretly. 

Once upon a time his letter would have sent me 
into the seventh heaven ; now something in me feels 
old and dead, and I can read it and think what it 
all will mean, as if it didn’t affect me at all. I’m 
awfully glad he’s written; I’m awfully glad to 
think there was something worth while in what we 
were to one another, after all; but the something 
deep down which has always said he wasn’t for me, 
is saying it more clearly than ever. 

I could imagine anyone like Jack Ford loving 
a woman enough not to mind Aunt Minnie and 
Uncle Samuel, and even being nice to them, but 
I couldn’t imagine Mr. Richard ever being any- 
thing else than put off and disgusted. Jack 
Ford never despises anyone; he is broad and big 
enough to love every sort of human being, but Mr. 
Richard divides everyone into classes, and never 
forgets he’s in the top class — the class that spends 
money and orders people around. 

I can conceive of a great love which could fuse 
all differences because I could feel it. 

Great enough to rise above the differences of a 
higher station? If Mr. Richard would have to get 
over his contempt of my relations, I should have 


'Woodbine 'Villa 


391 


to get over my fear of his. I don’t love him 
enough to feel one with him and them. I only 
love him enough to want to take him away from 
them and keep him for myself. I should be afraid 
of the interests and habits and customs which he 
shares with them and which are so different from 
all those I know. 

He has always been a romance; never part of 
my life, never something I could depend on, that 
belonged to me, that I didn’t have to feel re- 
sponsibility about, but that was natural and mine, 
mine. I just couldn’t live up to Mr. Richard. 
I haven’t been trained to it. If I belonged to him, 
I’d have to be a credit to him, and I shouldn’t be. 

The more I think it over, the less possible Mr. 
Richard seems. I don’t want to marry. I’m 
afraid of men. They’re too free, too important, 
too difficult to keep, too difficult to understand. I 
should think Jack Ford is the one man with whom 
marriage wouldn’t be a perpetual strain, but just a 
happy, interesting companionship. But then, he’s 
unique. 

The publishers will publish father’s poems for 
five pounds down; after that, and after 125 copies 
have been sold, I am to have all the profits except 


392 


On tKe FigKting Line 


twenty-five per cent. If his poems sold, I might 
get enough to bring out his novel. Of course, that 
would cost much more; it’s such an enormous 
book. Quite ten times the length of the poems, 
so that would mean £50, at least. 

I have sent off the cheque I had for the Sonnet 
Sequence. 

September 22nd, Wednesday. 

A tragedy has happened. We have to witness 
the results for a whole week. And little Archibald 
has to shoulder them. Jennie has had a birthday, 
and a bought chocolate cake. It was laid out on 
the sideboard, surrounded with chocolate biscuits, 
to rejoice all eyes till tea. 

At dinner-time, we found the cake with the icing 
picked off, and each chocolate biscuit broken 
neatly in half; one set of halves consumed, the 
other halves still in a circle round it. Archibald’s 
lack of interest in his dinner fixed the crime. 
Floods of tears heralded confession. 

A solemn scene ensued. Archibald was led by 
Uncle Samuel into the drawing-room. The arro- 
gant witnesses of Archibald’s manhood were let 
down ; we heard sharp slaps. Archibald returned, 
pink and shaken, to wrestle with rice pudding, and 


Woodbine Villa 


393 


the edict went forth that he was to have no cake 
for a week. 

We sat through tea, judges with bleeding hearts. 
Jennie took a slice of her denuded cake, and we 
all participated in the feast. Little Archibald 
ploughed through bread and butter indomitably. 
Cake might not have existed. But oh, it is a big 
cake, and will be on the tea-table for a week. To 
make the agony more impressive and prolonged, 
only Jennie is to have a genuine slice; we are to 
indulge in formal modicums. I don’t believe I can 
stand the sight of Archibald steadfastly ignoring 
cake for a whole week. 

September 28 th, Tuesday, 

Mr. Richard has written to say I am much too 
good for him, but just having known me, will help 
him not to make an idiot of himself. There’s 
something in his letter which made me know I 
had been right; and yet hurt me pretty badly. 
For a big enough man would have come. I am 
a rotter to want him to want me, when I don’t 
really want him. I shouldn’t be so sensible if I 
did. 

It’s so jolly difficult not to feel lonely, and sorry 


394 On the Fig'Hting' Line 

for oneself. I hope none of that got into my 
answer. 

September 2gth, Wednesday, 

If ever I have a Fighting Line again, Archibald’s 
photograph will lead it. To-day saw the last of 
the cake. Archibald has sat through without a 
murmur. He has not even looked at the cake. 
He has been gentlemanly and heroic to such a 
degree that I am going to take him out to-morrow 
and cram him with chocolates; I am allowed to 
put them to bed now, and I can’t hug him enough. 
Oh, Archibald, Archibald, if you’ll always stand up 
to your sins like that, what a man you’ll be! 

September joth, Thursday, 

I took Archibald to the confectioner’s ; he refused 
chocolates ; he seems to have lost his taste for them. 
Now is he being hyperheroic? Has he pledged 
himself never to touch the accursed thing again, 
or has Nature done the trick for him? Anyhow, 
he is a darling, and Jennie and he, established at a 
little table with a bottle of lemonade and a cake 
with pink ice on, divided between them, looked and 


Woodbine Villa 


395 


felt too deliciously grown-up for words. I wonder 
every woman in the shop didn’t fly at them. They 
are the sweetest little children that ever lived on 
this earth; and if ever they take to putting their 
heads in my skirts when faced with strangers, I 
know I shan’t have the moral strength to break 
them of the wicked, foolish habit, any more than 
you would encourage your own dog to make a fuss 
of strangers and not attend to you. 

Jack Ford would call this “the desire for human 
possession, ” but then he has never seen Archibald’s 
trousers. 

I had a nostalgia for London to-day. A lady 
called on Aunt Minnie who has been up for a week. 
I sat and writhed before this country view of 
London as a spectacle; it is a place to be lived in, 
to feel with, work with, adventure with; it’s a 
warm, throbbing, intensely individual centre of 
the splendid human interests and activities of 
the world, not a collection of sideshows. People 
who are dazzled by its roar and scared at its move- 
ment, make me angry. We Londoners are part 
of our city and alive and alert as itself, and don’t 
stand gaping at its size but glory in it. 

I wanted the sounds and the smells of it; I 


396 On tHe Fig'Ktin^ Line 

wanted to be on a bus thundering down the Strand 
with its intimate, packed, friendly narrowness; I 
wanted to hear the tide well up around the Bank; 
I wanted to come into the quiet of the Embank- 
ment and watch the gulls. I wanted to be part 
of a city where no one knew each other’s business, 
and where one could go adventuring into every 
possible phase of human life. If Jack Ford 
hadn’t left, I should go back and ask him to let me 
come with him exploring in the strange midnight 
hours; I didn’t make nearly enough of London 
while I lived there. 

It’s getting busy now; I wonder if I’ll ever dare 
go back and hunt a job again? Without any 
friend at hand! 

I can stay on here. It’s safe here. 

Sometimes I think that battle with London 
broke my nerve, and however much I long to be 
there. I’ll never muster up courage to return and 
fight again. 

And sometimes, as when that woman talked 
to-day, the call of it sounds louder than my fear. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


CAROL IS AFRAID 

October isty Friday, 

I HAD a wire this morning. “Leaving Padding- 
* ton 9 A. M. Meet train. Richard. “ 

I had to tell Aunt Minnie I had a friend coming 
down; I said it was someone from the office, pro- 
bably about a job ; but she looked suspicious. She 
referred to him as my gentleman friend when I 
went out, and gave a lukewarm invitation to 
dinner. I knew that whatever happened I could 
never let Mr. Richard see Aunt Minnie and Wood- 
bine Villa. 

But I couldnT help thinking of him as a Prince 
come to rescue me when he got out of the train, 
thinner and handsomer than ever, and oh, so dif- 
ferent from all the country-looking men upon the 
platform. 

It was raining and I didn’t know what to do 
with him. He suggested having some lunch and 
397 


39^ On tKe FigKtin)^ Line 

marched into the big hotel by the station and 
ordered a private sitting-room. It was the strang- 
est sensation to be standing there; Uncle Samuel 
knows the landlady and I could feel her eyes on my 
back. But where else could we go? 

We couldn’t talk while lunch was being laid, 
and the landlady insisted on seeing to everything 
herself so that I trembled at every word he uttered, 
and tried to make the conversation sound like a 
business chat. Mr. Richard couldn’t understand 
how people gossiped here, and became angrier and 
angrier. It wasn’t till we’d finished lunch and had 
coffee, that the door finally closed on the landlady. 

Then he said I was looking very well, and I said 
I had been very well-fed lately. He put his hand 
out across the table as if I had disclosed something 
dreadful. 

“Jasmine, you didn’t need anything — ” said 
he. 

I wouldn’t have told Mr. Richard of those 
days for anything. Jack Ford is the only person 
whom I could tell secret things about myself, 
like that. It would seem so much worse than it 
really was to anyone like Mr. Richard. But I 
did miss London and the fine adventurous bigness 
of it all as I heard Mr. Richard’s voice again. 


Carol Is Afraid 


399 


He kept on looking at me, and when I didn’t 
answer, imagined I looked miserable, and jumped 
up and came to me. 

“I’ve been a brute, ” said he; “ but I want to do 
the right thing now. We’ll have our cottage in 
the wood; then when I’m tempted, I shall know 
you’re there and it will help to keep me straight. 
You meant a lot to me in your sky parlour, but 
you’ll mean more to me, when you’re quite, quite 
mine. A fellow needs something to steady him 
and hang onto. You like helping lame dogs, 
don’t you?” 

He didn’t attach any importance to his people; 
he didn’t seem to be thinking of them. But I 
thought. 

“I rather like the country in the winter,” said 
he. “ It was winter when I took you to our wood. 
We’ll have jasmine on the porch, won’t we? and 
you shall have a monster work-basket and make 
pretty frocks for when I come, and some day, little 
caps, perhaps.” He went very red, so did I. 
But I was holding on to his people; I could not 
help but think of them. 

It would be good to leave Aunt Minnie’s and 
feel safe for ever after; good to have a cottage of 
my own and nothing to do but look after it. On 


400 On tHe FigHting Line 

the other hand, I dreaded going back to the wait- 
ing and wanting, and something in the way he 
spoke made me know he wouldn’t come often. 
I am much older than when I first knew Mr. Rich- 
ard. As we sat there, I was thinking of all sorts 
of contingencies. But I shouldn’t have wakened 
up altogether if it hadn’t been for something he 
said. 

“What a little country mouse it is,” said Mr. 
Richard. “Such a shy little mouse. Your hair 
is the colour of hay with the sun on it ; and you’ve 
such a sweet little country dress; it would be a 
shame to let London spoil you again. ” 

London had spoiled my mother ; and Mr. Richard 
was as far from understanding me as my father had 
been from understanding mother. Only I earned 
my living and knew more than mother did. I 
looked at Mr. Richard and saw he was wanting me 
to pet him and soothe him, not to companion him ; 
and I saw I should bother and irritate him when 
I stopped admiring and grew used to him. I saw, 
too, we should begin the fight about the children, 
I always wanting them to have their proper place, 
and he not wanting to be cumbered with them. 
It would be worse than father’s and mother’s 
experience, for father didn’t mind living quietly, 


Carol Is -Afraid 


401 


but Mr. Richard couldn’t. He had no resources 
in himself. I saw that Mr. Richard was becoming 
ever so little bald, and I knew I should grow tired 
of his good looks. I knew it would be madness 
to saddle him with me. 

Then I saw Mr. Richard’s face in the glass of 
the chiffonier. He sat staring out of the window 
at the draper’s shop across the way, and though 
his hand kept mechanically stroking my hair, I 
expect he was seeing the same sort of pictures as 
I was. 

I don’t know what made me think about Carol 
and ask after her. Mr. Richard coloured and 
jumped as if I had touched a sore spot. “I don’t 
know; how should I?” said he, and in a minute 
asked if I had seen or heard from her. From 
the careless way in which he looked away, I could 
see he wanted to know. He was going on with his 
own life, just the same; I dare say Carol had 
something to do with his coming down here. 
Either he was defying her or she had persuaded 
him to come; she can’t let people alone. 

Oh, I was so tired of all the mysteries and 
uncertainties. I got up. 

^^Well, I have to take the children out for a 
walk,” said I. ^Ht’s ironing day. It’s no use, Mr. 

26 


402 On tKe Fi^Htin^ Line 

Richard, we should never get on and your people 
would never be reconciled to it, even if we did. 
It was very good of you to come — ** My voice 
went on in a dull, casual sort of way, and again I 
stood aside and heard myself talking; I didn’t 
care; I couldn’t feel; you can’t go on being hurt 
for ever. At last, the part that is hurt dies, and 
then people have no power to hurt you. 

Mr. Richard pretended to be very angry but 
I’m perfectly certain he was relieved he hadn’t 
got to go through with it. Something had made 
him come down, and he felt it was the square 
thing to do, and his creed is to do the square thing. 
Now he stood right with himself. 

I heard him argue imconvincingly, facing the 
question of his people now, and saying they would 
be awfully keen on me when they got to know me, 
only we mustn’t rush it; but I wasn’t taken in. 
At the end he became really angry, and called me 
hard and cold and ungrateful. We looked down 
on the station from the window where I stood, and 
I saw the signals of the up-train drop, and told him 
if he ran he could catch the London express, and 
if he waited, he would have to go by the slow train 
three hours later, and I could not stay with him 
as long as that. We heard the distant shriek, 


Carol Is Afraid 


403 


and he picked up his hat and tore. I stayed in 
the room, watching him dart over the strip of 
ground and disappear through the gate as the 
train began to move; he caught it. 

The landlady met me in the hall with the bill. 
I had enough with me — just enough. It seemed 
only fair that I should pay. The rain had lifted 
and the sun was spangling every bush and flower. 
The earth smelt fresh. I was astonished that I 
was not more miserable and tried to make myself 
realize that I had done with Mr. Richard for ever. 
But the more I realized it, the more free and peace- 
ful I felt, as if a dreaded tooth was gone at last. 

Aunt Minnie’s help could come back next week; 
on the other hand they will be very pleased if I like 
to stay on, as the children have taken to me, and 
they don’t like to think of my being without a 
home. 

It would be easier to stay. When I think of 
going back to tramp round offices, my heart fails. 
And I love the children and the Commons. But 
could I live for ever in this little cramped house 
with those little cramped people? 

If I stay, there will be chapel to be endured. 
Aunt Minnie mentioned it this morning; while I 


404 On tHe FigHting Line 

was a visitor she didn’t think it necessary to speak 
of it, and besides someone has to stay with the 
babies and the dinner. But if I become a member 
of the household they both feel it would cause 
criticism if I didn’t go in the evenings. Aunt 
Minnie added I might like to attend Mrs. Flint’s 
Bible-class in the afternoon, when I should meet 
some nice young ladies. Mrs. Flint’s class was 
restricted to young ladies ; no domestic servants or 
mill-hands admitted. Aunt Minnie thought it a 
very progressive idea; no other place of worship 
in Scroose has a class like this, and it meets a 
real need. There are many young ladies (like 
myself) who are not as well grounded as they 
should be, before teaching. 

I like Mr. and Mrs. Flint, but I don’t want to 
be taught by either of them. I want to worry out 
my religion for myself. I could talk about such 
things with father or Jack Ford. But when 
Aunt Minnie speaks of serious things, I go cold 
and shy, as if she were talking about something 
indecent. I think she feels religion is rather an 
indecent subject, out of chapel. She changes her 
voice to speak about it, and looks stiff and awk- 
ward, as if such things have to be faced but it 
needs moral courage to handle the topic. 


Carol Is -A^fraid 


405 


I can’t think of religion as something docketted 
and ticketted and dispensed from a particular 
building. Father's writings are full of the religion 
that appeals to me, the feeling there’s something 
bigger and nobler than our human sense of life, 
the groping after some undeviating Law, the 
clinging to certain things like truth and sincerity 
and duty and independence. 

And Jack Ford has had a religious influence on 
me, though I haven’t the faintest groimd for 
thinking he believes in any system. But he be- 
lieves in compassion and tolerance and honesty 
and kindness, and lives them, and he has made 
me want to be kinder and more tolerant. It’s 
people that make me feel religious, people who live 
truly, without bunkum. I can’t take in a neat, 
hard, compact little System, based on a belief in 
Blood and Whitewash, and Ecstasies of Unnatural 
Hysterical Emotion, which Mr. Flint gets into 
in the pulpit and strictly avoids when he comes to 
tea. Religion, to me, is just Us; Us living, work- 
ing, loving; and the way we do it, shows how 
religious we are; not the words we spout or the 
particular building we attend, or the creed we say 
we believe in. How can you believe anything 
you don’t imderstand? And what comprehension 


4o 6 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

of the universe have Aunt Minnie and Uncle Sam- 
uel? Yet they talk glibly of believing in God. 
God to them, seems a glorified Mr. Flint. 

Yet they do try to be kind; they do try to lead 
sober, unselfish lives; and they’re making a big 
sacrifice in offering to keep me, when Miss Fitton 
suits them far, far better. She can wash and 
iron the children’s clothes, sew better than I, 
make lighter cakes, never wants to be alone and 
bum gas in her bedroom, is a devoted chapelite, 
and Woodbine Villa to her is the Perfect Home, 
presided over by an All- wise. All-powerful Deitess 
in Aunt Minnie and Deity in Uncle Samuel. I 
know this from her letters which Aunt Minnie 
always reads aloud and sighs over. They are fond 
of her, too, and I don’t feel they are fond of me. 
How can they be, when I think differently on 
every subject under the sun, and am always differ- 
ing or suppressing my opinion for fear of hurting 
them? 

They are keeping me because they see all 
homeless girls as helpless, and because father was 
improvident and left me without a home, and they 
have to take up his responsibility. 

Father paid for my Polytechnic training; sold 
his books to pay for it ; would have educated me if 


Carol Is Afraid 


407 


mother had let him; was separated from me all 
the early years when we ought to have been 
companions, and now, I’m being a coward, hanging 
onto the people who condemn him ; instead of using 
what he gave me, earning my own living, and 
standing for a tribute to his memory, as a success- 
ful, well-trained, business woman. Seems to me 
my big work in front of me, is to be a better 
daughter. If I start in to turn everything father 
has done for me, and left to me, to the best ad- 
vantage, I’ll make up better for all the misunder- 
standing than living on the charity of people 
who didn’t understand him and already have a 
grudge against him, moping by myself thinking 
of the past, and crying pints for what can’t be 
undone. 

The past can’t be undone, but it can be done 
over again, and somehow the way we live now, 
seems to take up the past again, refashion its 
results, and make everyone (as well as oneself) 
look back on it all with different eyes. 

October 2nd, Saturday, 

I’ve told Aunt Minnie I don’t feel I’ve the right 
to waste the training father spent so much on. 


4o 8 On tHe Fig^Hting' Line 

and made such sacrifices for, so that I could be 
provided for when he was gone. I must get 
back to London, now I was so rested and set up by 
my lovely holiday. She went very pink and said 
she was afraid it hadn’t been much holiday, but I 
told her I’d spent it in the only way I could enjoy 
myself — doing things. And the children had been 
a joy. 

For the first time she said I reminded her of 
my mother; she always liked doing things. And 
of course the air down here was noted. She’s 
writing to Miss Fitton to-night, and I’m to go back 
Monday week. It’s rather like launching out 
into the ocean on the lid of a packing-case, but 
I’ve got to set my teeth and go. I unearthed 
my Fighting Line to-day, when I was turning out 
the tin box to see what manuscripts I could send 
away, and I’ve put them up again upon the man- 
telpiece. I’ve got to be bucked up. A darling 
snapshot of Archibald is in the middle, and one of 
Jennie brings up the rear, smiling in her motherly, 
amused way at the comic performances of her 
menkind, and loving them for every foolish thing 
they say or do, bless her good little foolish heart. 

I’ve written to Sarah, and told her she must 
move to Jack Ford’s rooms. It will be jolly to 


Carol Is Afraid 409 

have her next door, though I can’t rise to her 
heights of denunciation. Men and the world 
generally don’t seem such a hopeless affair since 
I’ve learnt to respect Archibald’s masculinity and 
Jennie’s motherhood. 

They play all day contentedly, going shopping 
with bits of grass, asking the way from imaginary 
policemen, putting dolls to bed and teaching 
them and feeding them ; Archibald’s small trousers 
ambling tirelessly after Jennie’s sturdy skirts. 
They really are good little things not to scream 
with anger at the monotony of being a child. 
I used to. How I resented the treadmill of 
making up one’s own amusements all day long, 
when I yearned for beautiful happenings and wild 
adventures. 

I shall hate to leave the children. I do hope 
Miss Fitton will go away again in the Christmas 
holidays, and they’ll need me for the week. 

October 3rd, Sunday, 

I went to chapel to-night, because I felt a beast 
to stay away after Aunt Minnie’s remarks. Who 
am I to bring criticism on her home? To my 
astonishment Mr. Flint preached a ripping ser- 


410 On tKe FigKtin^ Line 

mon, not an allusion to blood from end to end. 
My other experience must have caught him in an 
unusually impassioned mood, for to-night he was 
his homely, kindly self, twinkling with kindness 
and pity and understanding; yes, understanding 
of the mean things we are always saying and 
thinking of other people. I felt a brute for hav- 
ing been superior to Woodbine Villa which has 
brought such rest and happiness to me, just at 
the time when I most needed to get right away 
from my own miseries. It is a home, a real safe 
little nest, and Uncle Samuel has worked all his 
life to keep it going for all those of his family who 
need a home. And Aunt Minnie has scrubbed 
and cleaned and cooked, and has cheerfully 
taken on all the extra work of those dear 
babies. 

I kept myself from crying because I wanted to 
think, and also Aunt Minnie would have thought 
I was crying at being turned out into the lonely 
world again. But a little hard spot in me was 
reached by that sermon, and I shan’t feel con- 
temptuous of chapel again. I can’t get over the 
unselfishness of people like the Flints; they are 
working from morning to night, doing things for 
other people, and keep bright and cheerful and 


Carol Is Afraid 


41 1 

even keep a sense of humour. Mr. Flint said some 
quite funny things to-night. 

Coming home, I had an idea about a reference. 
IVe a good mind to try Sir Mordaunt. He al- 
ways stuck up for the truth, and a high standard 
of uprightness would appeal to him. If I can 
only conquer my fear, go and see him, put my case 
plainly to him, and demand my right, a good 
credential from the Alliance, his name would 
carry immense weight. And he knew I typed well 
and was reliable. I can look him in the face now 
that I’ve done with Mr. Richard. I deserve a 
reference after all the work IVe put in at the 
Alliance and I believe he’ll see the justice of my 
demand and give me one. What an idiot I was 
not to think of that before. But when one is 
harassed and worried, one doesn’t think very 
sensibly. 

October 5 thy Tuesday, 

We locked up the house this afternoon and took 
the children on the Common. I was wheeling 
the empty mail-cart, Archibald was trotting on 
the grass, Jennie was skipping round Aunt Minnie; 
we looked exactly like the little party that would 


412 On tHe FigHting' Line 

come out of Woodbine Villa in the afternoon. 
The motors that flash by, the gay-clothed visitors 
and golfers belong to another world, and we look 
at them as we look at the horses that stray about 
the Common, admiring this one’s coat, or that one’s 
spirited trot. Now and then they cross close by 
to us and we get a strangely near and intimate 
view. Aunt Minnie stares frankly, at least, she 
never does anything frankly ; but she gives a scrut- 
inizing sideglance from her watchful, suspicious 
little eyes. To-day we have had an adventure 
which will give Aunt Minnie cause for conversa- 
tion for the rest of her secluded life. It’s all very 
well to sneer at her; it was a breath-taking experi- 
ence for me, and it’s troubling me a good deal more 
than it does Aunt Minnie. Why must I always 
be mocking at her and preening myself on my 
superior aloofness? A little group of golfers was 
coming along, particularly well-groomed people; 
I can’t stare at them as Aunt Minnie does, and so 
I didn’t recognize who was coming up, till some- 
one stopped right in front of me. There was 
Carol in the newest sort of golf -coat and cap, 
knitted silken things, silken stockings, absurdly 
stout golf shoes, spandy-white. Carol tanned ever 
so little by the sun, with her hair flying, her eyes 


Carol Is Afraid 


413 


humid and mischievous like a squirrel’s, holding 
out her hand while the caddies and the others 
tramped smartly on. 

‘‘Don’t you know who I am, Minette?” said 
she, smiling sweetly at me and Aunt Minnie and 
Jennie, for we had all halted with the shock. 

“Don’t go on. Aunt Minnie,” said I; “this is 
my Aunt, Miss Grainge. ” For Aunt Minnie was 
beginning to walk on in a preoccupied manner as 
if she had no connection with me. 

“Minette is an old friend,” said Carol, includ- 
ing Aunt Minnie in her graciousness. “And are 
these little cousins?” 

Children are funny. Jennie was sidling up to 
Carol and Archibald was ambling up. Her gay 
coat, brilliant lemon yellow, seemed to appeal to 
them as if a bright-hued bird had come to us. 
Jennie simpered a little, but her podgy little 
glove was held out, and her eyes were fastened on 
Carol’s pretty face. 

Archibald put his face up to be kissed without 
a murmur. Perhaps it was meeting her with us, 
out of doors, that made them behave so well. 

Carol was staying in the neighbourhood; she 
named a house at which Aunt Minnie’s demeanour 
stiffened, and a veil of self-consciousness seemed 


414 On tHe FigKting Line 

to descend. I guessed it was a big house from 
her defensive air. But Carol stood there, rattling 
away as unconcernedly and naturally as if we had 
been in my sky parlour. 

Before she left us, she had arranged to come to 
tea to-morrow; she asked if she might come to tea 
with the children ; she knew that was the one spot 
through which Aunt Minnie could be reached. 

Though of course Aunt Minnie viewed her 
with suspicion, as a fashionable Londoner. I told 
her Carol was the daughter of my late employer 
which impressed Aunt Minnie with the stability 
of my business relations and dealings. It looks 
well for the daughter of my employer to take an 
interest in me ! 

In a way, it’s a good thing for I can see Aunt 
Minnie is very nervous about my going back to 
London, unbefriended and alone; but I don’t 
want to see Carol again. She makes me think of 
the part of my life I want shut down and forgotten. 
I dread having to hear her talk to-morrow about 
Jack Ford and the new home. 

October '/th. 


It is as if a feverish whirlwind has swept inside 


Carol Is Afraid 


415 


this little house; an uncomfortable, disturbing, 
hateful whirlwind; but nowit’s gone, everything 
is strangely stuffy and compressed. There is as 
great a difference between Carol and us as between 
a glorious, flashing leopard and grubby little house- 
mice. Lithe, supple, bright, and restless, Carol 
lollops by, pausing to cast her watchful, secret 
eyes upon us, then on about her business, perhaps 
deeming us unworthy of her notice, perhaps put- 
ting out a claw and giving a swift dab that kills — 
that kills — for no reason save that she can’t 
help doing it. And yet, all the time, so beautiful 
and wild. She fascinates and terrifies me; when 
she purrs and crouches I think she is friendly ; but 
always, always there comes out that swift sharp 
claw; a pat, such a gentle pat, and something in 
one feels dead. 

Does she hate me or like me? Why does she 
bother to take notice of me, when we are such 
worlds apart? What possible object had she in 
coming to-day, to drink tea, flatter Aunt Minnie, 
make a fuss of the children, and then talk to me as 
if she’s making a sacrifice in marrying Jack Ford? 

One thing is very certain, it’s impossible to know 
what she’s really thinking. When Aunt Minnie 
had taken off the children to put to bed, the flow 


4i 6 On tHe FigHting' Line 

of pretty appreciation of the pure air and the 
home-made cakes and the children and the old 
china and fiddle-pattern teaspoons ceased as if 
turned off at the main. 

Don’t you want to clear some of this out?” 
said she. “Chuck it out of the window?” 

I felt like that when I dusted the drawing-room; 
so much of it is rubbish. But it wasn’t Carol’s 
place to remark on this. 

“I always think this room is so cheerful,” said 
I; “so sunny.” 

Carol looked at me under her eyelids, and then 
laughed. 

“Like Aunt Minnie?” said she. “She’s quite 
contented, isn’t she? Twelve feet square is quite 
enough for her ! And the memorials of the family 
provide sufficient food for thought. When people 
are poor, do they always sit in the midst of their 
families and gloat over them? Doesn’t she ever 
want to make a funeral pyre of Maud Emily, or 
Matilda Jane, or whoever it is — the daughter’s 
trophies of a misspent youth, and fling herself 
into life?” 

“Aunt Minnie’s idea of life isn’t yours,” said I, 
“it’s much more purposeful.” 

Carol deigned to give me a blank stare. 


Carol Is Afraid 


417 


** She’s built something solid with her life, ” said 
I. “She’s built a real home, though it’s a little 
one. 

“And stagnates in it,” said Carol swiftly. 
“Purposeful? Do you call it purposeful to cram a 
room with bits of rubbish, and spend your days 
cleaning and admiring them?” 

“She does a lot more than that; she’s bringing 
up those children, and she’s been having me, and 
she does all sorts of things for people,” said I, 
feeling all the time how pitifully unimpressive was 
everything Aunt Minnie did, in the eyes of this 
vigorous, bright adventurer. 

“I’m not insulting her or you,” said Carol, 
dropping down upon the sofa in a floppy, odal- 
isquish way, in which it had never been sat on in 
the whole of its sedate existence. “I’m trying to 
learn an object lesson, and I don’t want to learn it, 
and yet I know I’ve got to. I’m trying to under- 
stand fully and completely, what it will mean to 
be domestic and poor and have a family,” Carol 
shuddered. 

“I suppose it takes one person all her time to 
look after those brats?” 

“A person doesn’t want to do anything else,” 
I flamed. Brats! 


27 


4i 8 On the Fig^Hting Line 

*‘Not that theyVe bad little nippers/* said 
Carol, *‘but oh, I do not want to be poor. I 
am not made for being respectably poor. I could 
live in an attic on dry bread and cigarettes, but 
I cannot live in a little house, domestically, with 
one maid. I can*t receive my friends unless I 
can give them the food they’re accustomed to. I 
can’t wear ready-made clothes. I can’t go to the 
pit of a theatre. I can’t do all the things I’ve got 
to do for the rest of my life. ” 

Jack Ford had seemed very rich to me when I 
saw him in Aubrey Walk. It didn’t occur to me 
even now what she was talking about. I thought 
Mr. Grainge had suddenly lost his money. 

^‘It isn’t as bad when you’re used to it, ” said I, 
sorry for her now. “If you show you mind, it 
makes it so much worse for other people. If you 
face things bravely ” 

“But why should I face things I hate?” said 
Carol. “Is any man worth a life of misery? Oh, 
I wish I hadn’t a good streak in me; I wish I 
didn’t appreciate nobility in people, and want it 
more than I want diamonds. Or I wish it satisfied 
me. But my eyes are so wide open. I know I 
shall be eternally wretched if I marry, and yet he’s 
the only person I have ever genuinely respected. 


Carol Is Afraid 


419 


He is the only person who sees the good in me. 
It’ll never come out unless it’s believed in, and no 
one else ever will believe in it because I’m such a 
mixture. Most of me is so infernally bad, but 
there’s one little good spot, and Jack banks on 
that. But if I marry him I don’t believe that spot 
will hold out long. I shall run off with a Pork 
Prince or a Duke or something. He’s broken off 
with his aunt, and we shall have to live on three 
hundred a year.” She was clinging to the sofa 
with both hands, whimpering and staring before 
her as if she were arguing with herself and not 
taking notice of me at all. 

I could imagine her being silly enough to do 
anything that came into her head, at that minute. 
She didn’t seem able to resist any of her desires. 
I couldn’t tell her she would be happy with Jack 
Ford, because the things that make me happy 
don’t interest her, and the things she considers 
important, like big houses, lots of servants, expen- 
sive food and clothes, don’t matter to me at all. 
But she didn’t like me sitting silent. 

“I have a good spot,” said she defiantly. “It 
was jolly good of me to come and tell you about 
Richard. Not a woman in a million would have 
had the pluck. It needed far more than you 


420 On tKe Fig'Htin^ Line 

have any idea of, for a reason that you will never 
know/* 

You may have meant it well but as it happens 
you were quite wrong,’* said I. “Mr. Richard 
has been in a mess with someone else. ** 

Carol stared at me, like an angry tigress. 

“Do you mean you told him what I said.^** she 
asked. 

“No. He told me, ** said I. “He wrote to ask 
me to forgive him, which I have done. ** 

I knew it wasn’t wise to tell her anything, but 
I couldn’t help it. She was too omnipotent. 

“But you don’t think the same about him after 
what I said,” persisted Carol. “You can’t possi- 
bly think the same. You may be silly enough to 
be pleased at having him again, but you won’t be 
able to forget all that I pointed out. ” 

“It has not had the slightest influence on me,” 
said I. She knew nothing of our relations, nothing. 
How dare she come and manage my affairs as if 
she knew better than I? 

“It can’t help having an influence,” said Carol, 
“even though you honestly think it hasn’t. 
Some day you will think of him truly. If you like 
to wreck your life, some day you will know I 
warned you, though you won’t know how splendid 


Carol Is Afraid 


421 


it was of me to do it. ” She sat pouting her lips, 
the most attractive, sulky little mortal, but I 
could see she was tom in two ; she did not want to 
reveal the secret of her splendidness, and yet she 
was crazy for me to admire her. 

Suddenly she seemed transparent; a greedy 
little thing, grabbing everything that could tickle 
her vanity. Jack Ford believed in her goodness; 
I was overawed by her smartness; Jack Ford’s 
friends let her queen it over them ; that was why 
she came to an attic and played at being a run- 
away princess, and patronized me, and now was 
making a romantic marriage. 

And yet, the next moment, I saw the shadow 
in her eyes, and knew she wasn’t happy, but was 
really in fear, and really being tom in two. 

*‘Do you believe in omens and feelings?” said 
she. “The first time I saw you, I knew we were 
antagonistic and that you threatened me. Well, 
I’ve tried to do well by you. I’ve gone out of my 
way to be nice to you, I consider on the whole, I’ve 
been very noble, though of course I don’t say I 
haven’t sometimes given you a little slap, but on 
the whole, looking back, I’ve absolutely nothing to 
reproach myself with in my behaviour to you. 
Jack has a theory we get what we give to people, so 


422 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

ever since I had that warning, IVe given you good 
behaviour, it seems to have worked out right; 
I seem to have cleared you out of my way suc- 
cessfully; even when I was so frightfully altruistic 
and came and warned you not to make a fool of 
yourself with Richard, even that appears to have 
turned out right for me, and you’re mixed up with 
him again, safely; but all the same, I have the 
feeling that we’ve not done with each other yet, 
and that you’re threatening me now, worse than 
you ever have, and all the worse because I can’t see 
where or how. I distrust things when they look 
jolly safe. And to-day I’ve got nothing from you. 
You seem shut up in a case of Aunt Minnies and 
stuffy little rooms and domestic virtue. I don’t 
know what you’re thinking, whether you really 
care for Richard, or are just knowing him again to 
spite me, or whether you’re really happy living 
down here. How long are you going to stay ? ” 

I I understood Carol at last, or rather, for the 
minute, I thought I did. For, thinking it over 
after, I still can’t see why she came, or why she 
considers herself so splendid to have tried to sep- 
arate me and Mr. Richard. 

I had rather a queer superstitious feeling as 
she spoke, as if we were pitted against each other 


Carol Is Afraid 


423 


and affecting each other, though as she said, she 
had cleared me out very successfully indeed. I 
answered her question without remembering what 
sharp little hooks she always attached to the 
seemingly irrelevant diatribes, always just the 
question she wanted answered, and which always 
got answered because she had made you think of 
something else, and you spoke off your guard. 

“I’m going back on Monday,” said I. 

“Ah,” said Carol in the funniest snarl, and 
stared at me with wide-open eyes. “But you’ve 
given up your room. I heard Sarah has it. ” 

“Only from me; I’ve told her I’m coming back 
on Monday, she always knew I was coming back, ” 
said I. 

“I said we hadn’t done with each other,” said 
Carol in the queerest whisper, staring all the time 
with dilated eyes. “So you’re coming back to 
your sky parlour. Does everyone know?” 

“I’m afraid no one is as interested in my affairs 
as you,” said I. 

Carol remained looking at me now as if she were 
mutely pleading for help against a fear she could 
not bear. When she spoke, I saw she was serious. 

“Do you remember me telling you I had a fear 
that some day everything would be taken from me; 


424 On tKe Fighting Line 

everything I’d set my heart on?” said she. 
have that fear still.” 

Perhaps when the things are taken from you, 
you’ll find they didn’t matter as much as you 
thought they would,” said I, speaking as one 
would do to a child. She looked like Archibald 
had looked when he was being led away that 
awful day of crime and chastisement; waiting for 
something terrible to happen and knowing she 
deserved it. 

“I’ve made a mess of things and I’m hanging 
onto Jack to get me out. He’s ready to look 
after me. But I don’t know that respectability is 
worth being poor for. I’m flinging a romantic, 
quixotic marriage in the teeth of my people because 
they’re cut up about the way I’ve behaved with — 
one or two people. Now I’m thrusting respect- 
able Jack down their throats as they think I’m 
damaged in their market. That’s all they brought 
me into the world for, to marry me well, and I’m 
marrying Jack Ford. ” 

I wasn’t going to tell her she was making the 
best match any woman could make and that she 
ought to be on her knees for gratitude. But it was 
news that she was marrying because she’d got into 
a mess and was taking this characteristic step of 


Carol Is Afraid 


425 


getting even with her people. Jack Ford thought 
he could help her out; she needed someone to 
knock the nonsense out of her. If she hadn’t 
looked so exquisitely pretty and smart, I should 
have felt sorrier for her. 

“The only thing I can’t understand about you 
is why you’re afraid of me, ” said I, bitterly. 

“Afraid,’’ said Carol glaring at me, and then 
shrugged her shoulders as if she were scornful of 
herself now. “I don’t see why I should be afraid 
of you, seeing I always get my way,” said she. “ I 
made up my mind I would bring Jack Ford to his 
knees, or rather mine, some time ago, and he’s 
there. I meant him to move, and he did. I put 
his aunt up to it; and I shall get round her again 
and see that she makes it up with Jack. You’re 
out of it entirely now; even if you go back to your 
sky parlour.” 

“Well I can’t see what I’ve got to do with any- 
thing that happens to you,” said I. “I never 
have mixed up, and never shall mix up with your 
business. I shouldn’t dream of bothering about 
you as you do about me. ” 

“No, you’re just Minette, all to yourself, and 
things happen round you, and you stand quiet 
and well-bred and never move a finger,” said 


426 On tHe FigKting Line 

Carol with a sudden leap in her eyes. I do hate 
you, Minette; I should like to see you crying and 
howling and kicking, in a natural way. ” 

I should have liked to have told her people who 
have things to cry about, can’t afford that luxury. 
It’s people with food, clothes, and a home who can 
wallow in that sort of thing. Good heavens ! where 
should I be if I started to howl and kick when I 
thought of going back to town with sixteen shill- 
ings, the rent of the sky parlour to pay and no 
glimmer of a job until I’d faced Sir Mordaunt. 
And even then, the offices to tramp round, again. 

And there stood Carol with everything the 
heart could wish, including the best and finest man 
she’ll ever meet, and yet, not satisfied, and grousing 
about being “poor.” Poor, on three hundred a 
year, for certain. But its useless arguing with 
people about themselves. 

She had stayed so late that I could smell the 
fish frying for Uncle Samuel’s tea, and Carol 
smelt it too, I think, for she suddenly said she had 
stayed an age, and must fly. 

I took her down to the big motor drawn up 
outside the gate, and saw her go off, fashionable 
and composed, but with the haimting, clouded look 
in her eyes. 


Carol Is Afraid 


427 


I do wish I knew what she was worrying over, 
and why she can^t leave me alone ; and I do wish I 
hadn’t told her about Mr. Richard. It would have 
been much better to let her think anything about 
him, than the truth. She can make mischief 
again now. 

When I went back. Aunt Minnie was all apolo- 
gies for not having appeared to say “Good-bye,” 
but had hoped I was keeping my friend till Uncle 
Samuel came. 

Dear me, I had imagined Aunt Minnie looking 
up to Carol as some brilliant, tropical bird beyond 
her ken, but she says Carol reminded her so of 
Mother! Mother had just that way of pleas- 
ing everyone, and dressing so that people turned 
round in the street to look at her. Whatever 
she put on, always had an air, and she held her- 
self beautifully. She might have married half a 
dozen times, and very well too. But she was 
set on London, and felt she was thrown away in 
Scroose. 

I couldn’t help asking how she and father had 
met. Aunt Minnie went rather quiet and said 
she believed, informally. There was a party of 
young men staying on the Common, and somehow 
they all got to know mother, as young men will. 


428 On tKe FigKting Line 

Mother always attracted men of a superior class, 
she was so ladylike. 

I asked if they were engaged long, and again 
Aunt Minnie took some time to cut the bread and 
butter, and then said evasively, “Not very long.” 
She (Aunt Minnie) had never approved of sudden- 
ness in such affairs, but mother was all for London, 
and of course my father was only down for the 
summer. I asked if he took mother back to col- 
lege but Aunt Minnie said no, he left. I am 
sure there was some unpleasantness about the 
marriage, and she has some grudge against father 
for it. Dear, dear, I can’t imagine mother pretty, 
and smart, and ladylike! Poor little mother. 
Somehow, I feel so sorry for her ; poor little country 
butterfly, covered with London dust. 

But I’m a house-sparrow and my rooftop is the 
dearest place of all to me, and London, smuts and 
all, is part of me, and I long for it as sailors want 
the sea. 

Now what am I going to do about Sir Mordaunt? 
I believe I’ll go to his office and ask to see him; I 
don’t believe he’d give me an appointment if I 
wrote for one. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE BATTLE WITH LONDON 

October nth, Monday, 

DACK again! 

^ Back in the roar and the rush and the bigness 
and the zest of this business of a city, and I’m 
tingling to begin again, even though it needs tons 
of extra energy to get back into my niche. It’s 
worth it. 

What a mess Sarah has made of my room. It 
is true, she has been away, but even then, she can 
never have washed out a pan since she came, and 
she appears to have cooked all over the bed, and 
put down saucepans wherever she happened to 
be. When I think of the trouble it will be to 
get things clean and straight again, half the time 
I want to cry and half the time I’m glad to have 
something to go at, for coming back has made me 
think of so many things I want to forget, and nearly 
had forgotten down in Gloucestershire. 

429 


430 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

My life up here used to be so rich and full 
compared to now; Jack Ford^s rooms are still 
empty, and it's like living next to something dead. 
The happy times are dead; and Aubrey Walk has 
swallowed up the comfortable, cheery friend, and 
the silence beyond the wall is more silent than 
ever. 

I have stuck up my Fighting Line again, with 
another addition. Father is leading them, or 
following them. He is my leader now; at any 
rate, I am his faithful follower, and he deserves a 
place with the men whoVe faced big issues, even 
though his battles were fought out in his thoughts, 
the loneliest and hardest place to fight in, after 
all. 

It's nine o'clock and London is murmuring far 
below, and the lights are twinkling and blazing 
in the festival that never grows old, and some- 
where down below. Jack Ford is laughing and 
talking and twinkling, and somewhere Mr. Rich- 
ard is adventuring and making someone fond of 
him, flashing incessantly like a sky-sign, and 
somewhere Sir Mordaunt is shedding his cold arc- 
light truthfully hard and clear; and here I sit, 
such a dim little flame amongst the wilderness of 
coruscating, dazzling, powerful, steady flares and 


The Battle with hondoxi 431 

gleams and rays of the people of this Wonder City. 
It's a marvel mine keeps alight at all. I can only 
hope it won't be put out altogether to-morrow when 
I adventure into the presence of Sir Mordaunt (if 
I ever get there, which now I begin to doubt). 
Buck me up, my Fighting Line. I need you. 

October I2thy Tuesday, 

Sir Mordaunt wasn't in to-day. I called three 
times. 

Hanging about, waiting, does sap one's courage. 
As I walked about the City, I wondered if he and 
Mr. Grainge had suspected anything about me and 
Mr. Richard. They had behaved so queerly that 
day I took in the Argentine report instead of Miss 
Beckles. Oh, suppose Sir Mordaunt had sus- 
pected! I mustn't frighten myself like this, or I 
can never face him. 

October ijthy Wednesday, 

Not in to-day. Though his motor was drawn 
up outside. I shall go on calling. How I do 
bless all those dirty pans, and scratched and dusty 
things I've got to clean. 


432 


On tHe Fi^Htin^ Line 


My blood is up, though ; I deserve a testimonial 
and I shall call till I get it. 

How hard one can try for anything when one 
feels confident of being in the right. 

October I4thj Thursday, 

I have gained the coveted interview, and the 
scales have fallen from my eyes, and I see myself 
as the people at the Alliance see me. The men 
whom Tve looked down on, and fancied I was 
superior to, in my standards of honour. 

It’s pretty bad to be a worm that is cut off from 
all personal relations with the men it works for, 
by the office code of Honour. In Sir Mordaunt’s 
eyes, a clerk is no longer a woman, but a trust- 
worthy machine; if she makes herself felt as a 
woman she’s untrustworthy and dangerous and 
dishonourable, and the right thing to do is to turn 
her off at once. What she feels about the men she 
works for; what she feels about the cause they work 
for together, is of worse than no account; it’s 
impertinence. Clerks ought not to feel or think; 
they become live people when they do, and are 
mischievous in consequence. 

What a little fool I was to imagine Sir Mordaunt 


THe Battle witH l^ondon 433 

would stick up for me and champion me, when 
I Ve behaved so badly with his son. I can see now 
how badly I behaved to let Mr. Richard take 
me out, and entangle him in an engagement when 
he never meant it to be that. I knew he never 
meant to be definite, but I would take nothing else. 
I held myself above the usual office flirtation, 
and I used my opportunities in what my employ- 
ers consider a dishonourable way. I who thought 
myself honourable; I, who thought myself more 
important and worth while to the Alliance than 
the other clerks. I could just curl up and die. 

When I think how resolutely I called at Sir 
Mordaunt’s office; how confidently I walked into 
his room when at last I wore his patience out, 
when I think of his cold piercing look as I spoke, 
the words sounding to me even then, presump- 
tuous, — and then, when he answered shortly, 
curtly, that I was a very clever and impudent 
young woman, but he was an old hand at this sort 
of thing. Then he said he always knew what 
it meant when a girl took such interest in the 
affairs of her employers, but that I’d overshot the 
mark when I attacked Mr. Grainge; I had mistaken 
the pull I had over Mr. Richard. 

I stood like a ninny. I suddenly saw the force 


434 On tKe Fig'Kting Line 

of every word that he was saying, and it was true, 
in one sense. Mr. Richard and I had become 
friends because of our mutual interests, and I had 
mistaken our relationship; I had mistaken his 
attitude to me in the Alliance; Mr. Richard had 
thought of me as a clerk whose duty was to obey 
implicitly; he had never seen me as the comrade 
I had fancied myself to be. Sir Mordaunt said 
it was no use to try any sort of blackmail on him ; 
I had brought my dismissal on my own shoulders, 
and he hoped it would teach me I wasn’t as clever 
as I thought. He could answer for his son, that 
my influence had ceased entirely, and I had 
better face the fact that I had played beyond my 
hand. Then he rang, and I went out without 
saying a single word. 

I didn’t know I was as bad as that ; from his point 
of view, what he said was justified. From my 
point of view, I’ve considered myself as much an 
individual as Mr. Richard or Mr. Grainge, able 
to love and feel and fight with them, — beside 
them. 

But from his point of view, I and Miss Patten 
and Miss Beckles and the host of us that flood the 
Teashop, are just a crowd of grubby, little grey 
things, possessing neither sex nor intelligence nor 


T“He Battle witK l^ondon 435 

possibilities, who are taken into an office to do the 
drudgery. We aren't employed to think or criti- 
cize or enter into human relationships with those 
we work for; we're under them, a sort of half- 
human species; less than slaves for they have no 
responsibility towards us; it isn't their duty to 
know how we feed or if we feed at all. When 
we displease them we are thrown out. I don't 
wonder now that women scarcely ever rise to 
important positions; if we come into the labour 
market, we come in to drudge, not to share its 
ideals, responsibilities, rewards. If we try to 
climb up, we do it by getting round our employers, 
playing on them unfairly, capturing them with 
nets that self-respecting men ought to snap when 
they see them. 

As for criticizing our employers, standing for 
something higher than they're standing for, 
being respected and looked up to by them — oh 
Fighting Line, how precious thin chivalry wears 
when it's a question of men and women working 
together for bread and food and living ; when men 
no longer give but women earn alongside of them, 
think alongside of them, stand as separate individ- 
uals alongside of them. 

I see Sir Mordaunt's view of me and all my class. 


436 On tHe FigHting Line 

Part of me shares it. Part of me is content to 
grub along where he puts me, thankful to be safe, 
ready to obey unquestioningly, now. Yes, part 
of me has learned that lesson. But it’s the baser 
part. 

My father’s daughter, who loves and under- 
stands the glorious things he’s written ; my father’s 
daughter, who has been true friends with a man 
like Jack Ford; my father’s daughter who has the 
work of seeing his writings get through to the 
world; that part of me is as free and important 
as Sir Mordaunt or Mr. Richard or any human soul. 
That part of me has to be true and brave and 
honourable ; that part of me isn’t ashamed of any- 
thing I’ve done, not even of loving Mr. Richard in 
the way I’ve loved him, and accepting from him 
only what a self-respecting woman in his own class 
would accept. Fighting Line, you are men, except 
for little Jennie; but I need the courage of men if 
I’m to face the offices again without a reference. 
You’re men, but I need your pluck if I’m to get my 
father’s novel through. You’re men, but as long 
as I’m brave and go on fighting, the best I can, the 
best I know, I claim you as comrades, and I feel 
you saying, “Buck up, go on, ” just as you’d say it 
to a man. There isn’t an ounce of snivel or pity 


XHe Battle witK London 437 

in your eyes. They say, “It’s a hard world, and 
we’ve got to take our knocks alike, women and 
men, and never mind what anyone thinks of you. 
Courage is for everyone, women and men; truth 
is for everyone, women and men; honour’s for 
everyone, and it’s the same sort of courage, truth, 
and honour too. ” 

Never mind what Sir Mordaunt thinks of 
me. I can’t go back to Woodbine Villa for 
Miss Fitton’s come. I’ve got to get work. 
You’d call it unwomanly, perhaps, dear Fight- 
ing Line, because my heart is dead and I don’t 
feel particularly heart-broken about Mr. Richard ; 
I can only think about getting a job. But how 
would you have done the things you’ve done 
if you’d allowed yourself the luxury of bleeding 
hearts? 

October 20th, Friday. 

I’m coming to the end of things. My furniture’s 
beginning to go. I’ve just managed the rent. I 
must keep a corner to sleep in. I’ve cut out fires 
though it’s piercing cold. I must keep something 
to sleep under and huddle up in. I can’t live on 
less than one meal a day. 


43^ On tHe Fi^Hting Line 

November gth, Tuesday, 

This is the third day without anything. I must 
get something to eat if I have to go out and cadge 
it. And there’s nothing for the rent. I must have 
somewhere to sleep. I couldn’t stay out in the 
streets day and night this bitter weather. The 
first thing that I’ve got to have is food though. 

I can get it if I’ll go up to someone I know and 
say I’m hungry. Why can’t I do it? Why 
should I be ashamed to do it? 

I’ve only to go to someone I know, and ask. 

It isn’t wrong to be hungry. It’s only damn- 
able. I wish I knew where Sarah is. I could 
ask her. Or Miss Beckles. 

November 20th, Saturday, 

Well, the storm’s over and I’m tossed on shore 
and the sun’s shining and a fire’s crackling, and 
food’s piled up on the table, and Miss Patten has 
just gone, leaving the place like a new pin. When 
I think of the day I left this room 

Yes. The Something is friendly to us. I could 
have gone to the Teashop and seen Miss Beckles 
and Miss Patten ages ago; I could have asked 


TTHe Dattle witH Lrondlon. 439 

Mr. Grainge for a reference right back when the 
trouble first started; my chances were waiting 
all the time. But I decided Mr. Grainge was 
revengeful, when I ought to have known. Oh, 
I ought to have remembered that’s the one thing 
he isn’t. 

When one starts thinking one has been wronged 
there’s no limit to the idiotic things that come 
crowding up, blinding and obscuring everything. 

And to think how little I valued Miss Patten 
and Miss Beckles as friends, when they have 
turned out to be the truest friends I have. 

I wonder at myself now that I didn’t dare go 
boldly into the Alliance and ask them to stand 
me a lunch. But I had the stupidest sensitive- 
ness. I got as far as the City, and even the out- 
side of the Teashop and then I just couldn’t go in 
and look for them. The smell and sight of the 
food drove me mad, but I couldn’t go in and ask 
them for a crust like a beggar. I hung about, mak- 
ing up my mind I would get into conversation with 
them when they came out, casually, and try and 
introduce the subject as a joke; but they didn’t 
come out. Finally, I had to go in, for the shop 
was emptying and I had an awful fear they weren’t 
there after all. The waitress who had spilt the 


440 On tHe FigHting Line 

cocoa once came up to me, smiling kindly as if she 
knew me. She would have given me a crust, I’m 
sure, but I daren’t ask. I heard they hadn’t 
been to-day, trying to smile as if it didn’t matter, 
for she looked at me in a queer way as if she saw 
what I was feeling. I suppose they get to know 
the hungry look, feeding people all day long. So 
I went out quickly. I was faint with standing 
about, and desperate, desperate. 

Oh, the Something is friendly. 

For I made up my mind I’d go to Mr. Richard 
in his office and ask him to help me. I knew I’d 
only to go to him, starving, and tell him what his 
father had said to me, to make Mr. Richard do 
anything. I’ll never judge people again for steal- 
ing or even murdering when they’re hungry. You 
get to a point when you can make yourself do the 
most shameful things without caring. That day, 
it was as if all the fine part of me was beaten down, 
and there was only a cunning animal left. Al- 
though I still was foolishly, basely proud. When 
I got to the Alliance, I remember numbing my 
shame deliberately, saying to myself, “Be brave, 
be brave,” as if what I was doing wasn’t the 
cowardliest thing I could have thought of. I got 
up the stairs by telling myself how few there were 


THe Battle witK London 441 

to climb, ticking them off one by one; at the top 
I met Mr. Benson. I asked him where Mr. Rich- 
ard was; he stared at me and said he didn’t know; 
Mr. Richard had left three weeks ago. 

I don’t know why I asked if Miss Beckles or 
Miss Patten were upstairs. I suppose it was 
the pride in me that didn’t want anyone to 
know my disappointment. He said they were, 
so I dragged myself on. I might have been 
away on a little holiday; they both jumped up 
in their pleasant, fussy way, and said how jolly 
to see me again, and a lot of chatter I hardly 
took in. It was all I could do to sit and smile. 
Then I heard them saying how they missed 
me, and how Mr. Grainge had said the other 
day he wished I were back, and did they know 
what I was doing. Miss Beckles told him I was 
a secretary somewhere. Was I still? I said 
“Yes.” Even then, I didn’t take in what was 
being offered. 

Miss Beckles said she was jolly glad Mr. Grainge 
had to feel the pinch ; when men got hold of a girl 
who could type at my speed, they’d have to learn 
the lesson she was worth her money. I heard 
Miss Beckles ranting about economic conditions, 
but didn’t take in then that they thought I had 


442 


On tHe Fig'Hting' Line 


asked for an increase of salary and had left because 
of that. I did take in, however, that Mr. Grainge 
and Sir Mordaunt had had a split, and Sir Mor- 
daunt and his son had cleared right out, and Mr. 
Grainge was now up to his neck in British Col- 
umbia, and a Jew named Samuelson was backing 
the new scheme. 

Then again I heard Miss Beckles say how busy 
they were and Mr. Grainge was the whole thing, 
and it maddened him to be checked by the idiocy 
of the girl they’d had, and he was now trying Mr. 
Benson who was reliable, but not up to my speed; 
and speed was what Mr. Grainge demanded at 
all cost. 

“I believe you’d get two pound ten if you stuck 
out for it, ” said Miss Beckles. “He’s used to you 
and you know his ways, and this work is on the 
top of him. Why not go in and see him and say 
you might think it over if he’d make it worth 
your while. If I were you, I’d ask three. You 
don’t get a fat lot at that secretary job, do you?” 

“Not a fat lot,” I heard myself saying, still 
smiling. Miss Patten has told me since that they 
thought I had gone a little balmy ; I sat and smiled 
in such a soppy way. 

There was not much hope in me, even when 


TKe Battle witH London 443 

Miss Beckles spoke so cheeringly; but I saw 
Mr. Grainge wasn't as malicious, evidently, as I 
thought. And I was getting blunted to what he 
thought. Now I was here, and they were pressing 
me to go and see him, I thought I might try him for 
a reference; he could guarantee my speed, at all 
events. Miss Beckles took me to the door; then I 
was launched on a sea of Turkey carpet with Mr. 
Grainge on an island far away. I got across 
still smiling, and he looked up, surprised and 
genial, as if we had parted on the friendliest terms, 
and I told him I had come about a reference as I 
was wanting to go back into an office again. He 
said, “Certainly,” and I stared. 

Like an idiot (for I felt so weak I hardly knew 
what I was saying), I asked him why he would give 
me one now and not before; and he looked up 
astonished and still genial and said “Why? Did 
you ever send for one?” 

Of course I hadn’t. 

Then he said, “ I suppose you don’t feel inclined 
to come back? We’ve an extra rush at present 
and I dare say we could find you something 
to do.” 

I said I couldn’t apologize. 

He said, “Oh, that’s all right. Sir Mordaunt 


444 On tHe FigHting Line 

has gone now. We shan’t have any more trouble 
there. ” 

As if Sir Mordaunt had been the cause of the 
trouble. 

I said I didn’t see what he had got to do with my 
going, and Mr. Grainge stared at me, and said I 
might have flirted with Mr. Richard till all was 
blue, for all he cared, but of course Sir Mordaunt 
took it in a different light, and at the time he. Sir 
Mordaunt, had a big pull in the office, so I had to 
go. But all that was over, and if I liked to come 
back, on the understanding there was to be no more 
going down to Hurley till the office work was done 
(Mr. Grainge permitted himself a roguish smile) I 
was very welcome to my old place. The business 
of the cheque and the intercepted letter appeared 
to have vanished completely from his mind. 

I told him I must know where I stood with him 
about my conduct about the letter. He looked 
a little annoyed and bored, but leaned back as 
if for the sake of peace, he’d rake it up again. He 
said if it gave me any satisfaction, he would admit 
now he had done a foolish thing in bluffing as he 
did; he ought to have respected my sharpness 
more. He had been remarkably impressed by it, 
especially by my tumbling to the number on the 


“THe Battle witH London 445 

cheque. Not one girl in a hundred would have 
remembered to a unit. 

I asked why he had insisted on my going if I 
wouldn’t apologize, when I had been right. 

He said he didn’t admit I had been right in 
holding back those letters ; in fact it had threatened 
to put him in a devil of a mess, as things were at 
that time with Sir Mordaunt; although it turned 
out after, it was a good thing to have had the 
matter precipitated. 

I still said he hadn’t explained about the apology. 
He looked at me with his genial smile which I 
now see has cunning in it, a naive self-satisfac- 
tion so akin to Carol’s, and pointed out he had 
said I was to stay till I apologized, he had insisted 
on that ! Only Sir Mordaunt had chipped in, and 
he had to give me notice. 

“ I see I shall have to speak straight out ; you are 
a very able young woman, Miss Blunt, and how 
much do you want to come back?” said he. 

The whole thing had meant nothing to him ; the 
shame that had agonized me, the pride, the 
crashing down of my ideals and illusions — it had 
all been an insignificant incident, and all he could 
see in my hesitancy now was cunning, sharpness, 
the desire to get a raise. He seemed greater and 


446 On tKe Fig'Hting Line 

more aloof than ever, not to have been troubled by 
that which had nearly been the death of me. I 
heard myself saying I wanted three pounds, and 
he said, “Oh no, no; What about two ten,’’ and 
I tried to be cunning too, with an idea of rising to 
his level, and said, “Make it two fifteen, ” and he 
laughed and said I had the habit of beating him, 
and he mustn’t let it grow on me. 

Then his laughing voice sounded fainter and 
fainter; there was nothing to battle for, some- 
how, now I had a job again. I just pulled myself 
together to try and keep up pretences till I got 
outside but somehow the truth came out. I 
heard myself saying I was not hysterical, for I had 
had a good holiday and food but I hadn’t had any- 
thing for the last three days, and should be all 
right now. And then the room ran round and 
round in circles with Mr. Grainge coming nearer 
and nearer, and I knew nothing more till some- 
thing warm was being forced against my lips, and 
I looked up into Miss Beckles’ face. I was on the 
carpet, and she was holding me, and Mr. Grainge 
was hovering near with soup. 

I was all right, quite all right, but they made 
me drink the soup, and Mr. Grainge was like 
Carol in her nicest phase, and so friendly and 


TTKe Battle witK London 447 

kind, I hadn’t any fear or scruples about him. 
He kept talking encouragingly, as if I were a child 
or someone ill, and finally Miss Patten took me 
downstairs and there was his motor and we whirled 
away in it, not to my home, but to Mrs. Patten’s 
who had a spare room. Mr. Grainge had asked 
the girls to look after me. 

I’m so ashamed when I think how I interrupted 
everything, but the old feeling of home has come 
back, about the Alliance. They all knew me 
and behaved as if they were my family, somehow 
. . . Mr. Grainge wanted me to go to Brighton 
or Margate for a week, to pick me up; and it 
ended in Miss Beckles going down with me for the 
week end as Miss Patten is just engaged. 

We seemed to get to know each other well 
through this, and it came out that Miss Beckles 
had known about Mr. Richard all along. She 
had seen me meet him in the taxi that day, when 
she had come up to me as I waited; she had put 
two and two together after that; and had been 
dreadfully, dreadfully sorry, for she was pretty 
sure from the beginning I had no real chance. She 
says I’m not the sort of girl who carries an affair 
like that to a satisfactory end; you have to be so 
jolly sharp. She says she could have brought it 


448 On tHe FigKting Line 

off once, before she took up the Woman^s Cause, 
because from a child, she never had any mercy in 
her; there men were, a bad lot, and you’d got to be 
a jolly sight worse than them, if you meant to keep 
your end up; so she just played with them and 
laughed. But when she took up Woman, she 
despised men too much to accept anything from 
them or flatter them, and ever since, she’s let men 
see what she thinks of them. She says some of 
the happiest moments of her life have been cheek- 
ing a howling mob; she loves it; it’s like wine, 
especially when they chase you, and it gives 
you an excuse to get your hands on them. She 
has read a book lately called Amazons in An- 
tiquity and Modern Times, and says her blood 
tingled with excitement to And she is the pure 
type of Amazon, and this book admires them im- 
mensely and points out how Achilles wept to 
see such beauty and valour not for him. Miss 
Beckles is no more beautiful than in the days 
when she pictured herself a second Gertie Mil- 
lar; but she is just as happy now picturing 
herself an Amazon. 

There’s something awfully jolly about her, 
though; and I think telling men frankly what she 
thinks of them, is braver than plundering them 


TKe Battle witH London 449 

by tricks. I wonder who the men were that she 
tricked. She’s never been engaged. 

I would have liked her better if she hadn’t told 
Miss Patten about Mr. Richard but I suppose it 
wasn’t humanly possible for her to keep it in. 
Mrs. Patten is a funny, pink-and-white old lady, 
and I’m afraid she’s heard about it, too, for she 
has told me so much about the good fish in the 
sea and Marie’s disappointment and that second 
thoughts are always best and there’s nothing for a 
broken heart like plenty of beef tea — home-made 
• — not your nasty bought extracts. Yet after the 
first shock of being sympathized with, I didn’t 
feel very sensitive; for a few days it has been so 
lovely to be in a home again, fed up, and petted, 
and safe. 

I like Miss Patten ; she has taught me the cro- 
chet pattern at last! I still feel confused and 
blank when I think of Mr. Grainge, for he has been 
so extraordinarily kind, how can I judge him? I 
haven’t told the girls a word about the cheque. I 
should hate them to despise him, and Miss Beckles 
would be so glad of the chance. But I wonder if 
it wouldn’t have been nobler if he had resented 
my discovery ; it seems so callous not to mind and 
to think trickery quite natural, and objection to 


29 


450 


On tKe Line 


it, cunning, or hysterical. And Carol and he both 
have a way of passing over inconvenient things, 
good humouredly 

I can't go on thinking about him or her; I feel 
too much at sea. He has been very kind and 
plucked me out of all the miseries and put me in 
safe hands, and paid for everything like a father 
might. And I’ll work, oh, won’t I work for him, 
when I go back to-morrow. 

The proofs of father’s book have come by to- 
night’s post. How alive the words look now they 
are in print! 


CHAPTER XX 


JACK FORD COMES BACK 

Monday, March 20th, 

TT is a long time since IVe wanted to write in this 
* book. There’s been nothing to write about. 
IVe been safe and fairly happy in a neutral sort 
of way, and the days go by pretty peacefully. 
But the theatre-goings with Miss Beckles, and 
the Sundays at the Pattens’ and even my visit to 
Gloucestershire at Christmas haven’t been very 
colourful somehow, perhaps I’m getting dulled 
now I’m so safe and comfortable. Miss Beckles 
told me the other day that I was growing plump. 
Even the excitement of father’s book didn’t turn 
out such an excitement after all. There have 
been fifteen notices, some splendid ones; but no 
one has written to me about it, and I don’t know 
yet how many, if any copies have sold. It’s queer 
how little in contact with the world a book really 
brings you. 


451 


452 On tHe FigKting' Line 

And now IVe something important to chronicle, 
it is absurdly unimportant, when I think it over. 

I met Mr. Richard to-day when I was coming 
out of the Teashop. The girls went on, and he 
stopped. After we’d said, “How are you?” we 
didn’t know what to say. He stood there, grinning 
a little sheepishly and stupidly, and I was crimson, 
and we had nothing whatever to talk about. He 
asked if I were still in my old digs, and I said I 
was back at the Alliance, and had been staying 
with Miss Patten. I don’t know why I evaded 
saying where I lived. I suppose there was a dim 
fear that he might drop in one evening if the fancy 
took him, and I don’t want to start all that again. 
The awkwardness in meeting him for a few mo- 
ments was unbearable. His family and friends 
seemed to hang like a cloud, round him, till I could 
hardly breathe. Finally he said he was late and 
must be off, and we parted, with mutual relief. 

I only wish I’d had the sense to go first, though 
if I had, he might have been provoked, and come 
after. 

He looked very good-looking, but too pink and 
healthy and smart and ordinary. When I was 
little, I never liked Fairy Princes; they were too 
perfect and too much of a responsibility. I must 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 453 

be growing into a regular office hack. He didn’t 
arouse the faintest spark of romance in me to-day, 
only the most unfeigned relief that I was out of 
that business; when I think back to my misery 
and fear — the waiting — oh, I’m glad it’s over. 

There is a real blank still in the top storey which 
I have all to myself. Sarah didn’t take the rooms 
next door, and I believe I’d rather they were empty. 
I can sit and remember the jolly times we used to 
have there, and the place seems sacred to their 
memory. I haven’t heard news of any of them for 
ages. Sarah is in America, and Aubrey Walk is 
about as far away. I suppose Carol and Jack are 
married now. 

It is funny how savourless life can become. I 
suppose it will be savourless now for ever. Still, 
it’s something to be drawing two pound fifteen, 
a week, and I shall have a ripping holiday this 
summer. Aunt says I’m to come for a month if I 
can get off. And I’m to go down for the week end 
at Easter, and go out primrosing. 

Easter Monday, April Sth, 

Oh, how empty London feels! 

I’ll never come back on a Bank Holiday again. 
If one stays at home through the week end, one 


454 On tKe FigKting Line 

becomes acclimatized; but to come back into the 
tail-end is too depressing. 

The fresh skies and sunshine, the happy child- 
ren, the cosey little house have warmed me and left 
a smile in me ; and yet, and yet, it seems wrong that 
Woodbine Villa should be the only home I have. 
I feel as I do when I’ve been to the Pattens’ ; much 
as I like them, I do long for someone who can 
talk about things above my head. I like doors to 
open, and views to appear, in conversation; and 
even though I don’t agree and don’t understand, 
I love the sense of being tilted up on my toe-points, 
stretching up, with wonderful ideas just ahead of 
me. I’d love to meet people who could talk of 
father’s book; I showed it to Aunt Minnie and 
Uncle Samuel and they said it was very pretty in 
parts (to please me); and I showed it to Miss 
Beckles, and she said I mustn’t be offended, but a 
man’s point of view never interested her on any- 
thing, it was always so one-sided; and I took it to 
the Pattens and left it, but the other day Miss 
Patten gave it to me again, and said she was 
very sorry but they were so busy getting her trous- 
seau started that she was afraid they’d never get at 
my book. 

And now to-night, when London is holiday mak- 


JacK Ford Come$ BacK 455 

ing, the loneliness seems unbearable. I’ve had a 
glimpse of what companionship might be; I’ve had 
a glimpse of a happy, happy circle where thoughts 
can fly as free as birds or butterflies; and oh, how 
natural and part of me the whole thing seemed! 
Too bad that everything pleasant should end. 

It’s awfully strange, but as I sit here, I could 
fancy the old familiar smell of onions is coming 
through the walls, and the mice in the roof make 
scutterings as if someone was in the rooms next 
door. Perhaps I think I smell onions because, like 
an idiot, I forgot the shops would be shut to-night, 
so my thoughts run on food. 

Dear, dear, I wish I had someone with whom I 
could talk over my one big problem now. I’ve 
saved twenty-three pounds, and soon it will be 
time to make enquiries about the publishing of 
father’s novel. And yet I hesitate because of the 
way Woodbine Villa is described. No one could 
possibly mistake it. It would be dreadful if Aunt 
Minnie recognized the story, and father’s view of 
mother and Scroose. She would never forgive me 
for publishing such a story. And then my one 
home would be cut off from me. 

I feel such a coward when I think of losing my 
holidays, and the children, and the welcome, but I 


456 On tKe Fi^Hting Line 

feel a worse coward to think of going back on father 
for fear of losing some advantage for myself. 
That smell of onions is real; I'm not imagining it. 
And it isn't mice; it's someone moving about. 

Someone is in those rooms. 

I'm going to see. 

Jack Ford opened the door, and I looked past 
him to see his room furnished, and the fire lit; 
and everything warmed up, and there was some 
point in living. 

I could only look and look. He laughed at the 
way I stood there, he was as composed as ever, 
but he didn'tmake me feel uncomfortable. I was 
silent because I wanted to say so much, I didn't 
know how to begin. I couldn't get over the fact 
that he was back again. 

Then he said, “Well, Minette, here I am, again. 
How's yourself?" And I managed at last to say 
something about having smelled the onions, and 
he said he was sorry if they had annoyed me, and I 
said, “Not a bit, they were as good as supper," 
and then he asked if I'd have some. I don't 
believe I could have gone away. I meant it for a 
hint. 

Oh, how glorious it was to be inside again, help- 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 457 

ing him set the table and seeing him get out the 
coffee. He was exactly the same, chirpy and 
solid and sensible and annoying and delightful 
altogether. I could tell him everything at once, 
somehow; we didn’t have to begin again; we 
seemed to belong together; neighbours — homely, 
old-fashioned neighbours. 

We were so busy at first asking and answering; 
why he’d come back? and what state were the 
rooms in? and when did he move in? and all that; 
that supper was through before we could begin to 
talk properly. Then he squatted down by the 
fire to watch his beloved coffee, and I slipped 
down on the rug too, because I felt at home and 
natural and happy — happy 

He asked what I’d been doing, and I told him 
I’d been finding fascinating relations and staying 
in the country, and that I had left the Alliance 
and returned to it, and had been generally very 
busy. I couldn’t make out what he was talking 
of when he asked how the Knight was ; it wasn’t till 
I saw he was deliberately averting his eyes, that I 
woke up and laughed. 

^‘The Knight has gone the way of all my illu- 
sions,” said I. ^‘I have become a steady-going 
cab-horse. ” 


458 


On tKe Fi^Hting Line 


^^You look jolly well on it,” said Jack Ford 
chuckling to himself as he wiggled the coffee to 
make it boil. 

‘‘I was pretty sorry for myself an hour ago,” 
I said; “but it’s jolly to feel you are back. Will 
the Bird Boy and Simon and Stephen come 
again?” 

“The Bird Boy and Stephen, surely,” said Jack 
Ford . ^ ‘ Simon is a social star a-spangling too high a 
firmament for my reach at present. I donT like 
society, Minette. ” 

I don’t know when I’ve been so glad to hear 
anything as I was when he said this. 

“Is Carol coming here?” said I, bringing myself 
to it with a jerk. 

Jack Ford was very busy with the coffee. 

“ No, ” said he at last, and that was all. 

“Oh, then, you’re not going to stay perma- 
nently,” said I, and my heart went down, down. 

“ Who can say what is permanent in this world? ” 
said Jack Ford. “The only thing I am sure about 
is that Carol and I will never like the same 
things.” 

“ Is that over? ” I asked, and he nodded. 

Then my heart soared up again, because that 
meant he was going to stay. 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 459 

When coffee was dispensed and Jack Ford 
could give his mind to mundane matters, he 
brought the conversation back to my affairs. 

“So youVe had a steady run of luck?” said he. 

I grinned a little. It was impossible not to 
launch my bomb. Steady run of luck ! 

“Well, not exactly,” said I. “IVe been down 
to the depths and was nearly finished. Not once, 
either. IVe had everything I cared for taken 
from me; my self-respect has been knocked into a 
cocked hat; IVe nearly been chucked into the 
streets like the cat you thought I looked like when 
I strayed into your room, and IVe come out hard, 
I think, with nothing much to care about, and no 
belief in any human being left. ” 

This wasn’t true. Even while I spoke, I was 
rejoicing in being able to talk at last to the one 
person whom I could talk to about everything. 
He hadn’t changed; he was his old, dear self; 
sympathetic and listening and twinkling, and kind 
— kind 

I wanted to bring all the sadness and the 
disappointments and the disillusions to him, 
shovel them down before him, and feel him 
comforting me till their soreness had gone. I was 
glad everything had happened to me just the 


460 On tHe Fighting Line 

way it had, so that I could tell him and be 
comforted. 

But he never comforts me the way I expect, or 
want. 

“You’re not nearly as hard as you were,” said he. 

“Why, I used to believe in everyone; I used to 
idealize — oh, I blush to think of my idiocy,” I 
cried. 

“There’s no one so hard as an idealist,” said 
Jack Ford. “When you put people on the heights, 
the inevitable consequence is that you can’t keep 
’em there, and over they topple, down among the 
dead men in the depths. Human nature was 
never made to stand being put upon impossible 
heights; fortunately, it also refuses to stay in 
the depths. See it as I do, from a com- 
fortable human level, and you’ll find we’re all 
gradually coming along together. Stay with us, 
Minette; heights and depths are lonely places. 
When you’ve sent people reeling from the heights 
to the depths, it’s a temptation almost impossible 
to resist — ” he paused, twinkling, then added, 
“to look down on them. ” 

“You can’t help looking down on people when 
they’ve fallen below all possible esteem and trust, ” 
said I. 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 461 

“Is any of us worthy of all possible esteem and 
trust?” said he, and something in his tone made 
me colour. 

“Has Carol told you?” said I. “You know 
then, about the Alliance?” 

“The first night you spoke of it, you told me 
all I want to know about that,” said Jack Ford, 
grinning openly. “I knew there was no man in 
the City who could fill the bill you’d outlined. ” 

“I’m going to tell you all about it, ” said I, and 
told him everything, from my discovery of the 
missing cheque, my first suspicion of the lie in the 
letter, Mr. Richard’s suggestion and attitude, Mr. 
Grainge’s deliberate lie, or bluff, ending up with 
his callousness and kindness. I didn’t tell him 
about my engagement being broken off, nor of Sir 
Mordaunt’s displeasure although those omissions 
made the story rather incomplete. 

Mr. Grainge was the perplexing feature. 

“He still talks as though he were an honourable 
man,” said I, “although he admitted having 
bluffed about the cheque. He doesn’t seem to 
think a lie or two in business, matters. He said 
the other day that he knew he could trust me, as if 
he were pleased to be able to do so. Now is that 
extraordinarily magnanimous in him, or callous? 


462 On tHe Fig'Kting Line 

From the way he spoke, he appeared to think he 
demanded a high standard of trustworthiness 
from people/* 

'‘Well, trustworthy clerks are convenient,** 
said Jack Ford. “And what we ask from other 
people doesn*t always level up to what we do, 
ourselves. ** 

I went crimson. 

“ Grainge seems a decent sort, as his type goes, ** 
said Jack Ford. “ He*s a big man, in all senses. I 
can*t understand him dismissing you like that, if 
you were useful. He gets annoyed when little 
dogs snap, but I shouldn’t have said he is the sort 
to punish them. I’ve seen something of him 
lately. He’s a bigger type than Carol, and she’s 
uncommonly big, in streaks. It’s her damned 
woman’s upbringing that’s made her what she is. ” 

I had to tell him Mr. Grainge hadn’t dismissed 
me. I got it out at last, about Sir Mordaunt’s 
point of view. And mine. 

Jack Ford stared in the fire, and wasn’t as ready 
with his sympathy as I’d expected. Instead, he 
said, one must play cricket. Offices had to have 
a certain code; girls had to keep it up, as they 
always suffered most if it was broken. It was a 
rotten state of things, but if people had been bred 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 463 

up in the fear of society and money it was a jolly 
difficult thing to get them to see things humanly, 
and the average office girl would make a bee-line 
for a susceptible young man who could give her 
a motor and a handle to her name. ^‘So I don’t 
blame Sir Mordaunt,” said he. 

“It was just the things that most girls would 
make a bee-line for, that stood between us,” said I 
between my teeth. “They separated us from the 
first. I loathed the idea of knowing Mr. Richard’s 
friends and racketting about and dressing up and 
not being able to go down to the office ; I hated the 
life I knew I’d have to lead; I was making as 
much of a sacrifice in giving up the sort of life I’m 
used to, as — as — he would have done if he’d given 
up all the things he liked. ” 

“ So it doesn’t seem to have been quite a heaven- 
sent union, does it?” said Jack Ford, very much 
engrossed with the fire. 

“We understood each other though, yes, 
through it all, ” I cried; and again I knew I wasn’t 
speaking the truth, for we never had understood 
each other ; we had only admired and been excited 
by each other. When my dark hours came, Mr. 
Richard was of no use to me. 

But I was angry with Jack Ford for making 


464 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

nothing of my great romance, and I purposely 
piled it on, and sighed, and said: “Love reconciles 
the most different points of view, in time. 

“Even as different as ours,” said Jack Ford, 
trying to make a joke and bring the conversation 
onto a commonplace level. 

“Nothing will reconcile those, ” said I viciously. 
“I believe in the fundamental independence of 
every human being.” 

“We are one there,” said Jack Ford. “I should 
have said you believed in shoving other people’s 
apple-carts, and squealing when you get into a 
ditch. ” 

“Look here, you’ve got to understand what 
I’ve been through,” said I, for we couldn’t go 
on talking in this light sort of manner. Then I 
told him everything. I told him I’d sat here and 
cried with the sheer pain of being hungry; I told 
him I’d turned sick at oatmeal and couldn’t get 
anything more; I told him how I’d tramped until 
my shoes wore out and I had to sit here with no 
living soul to talk to ; and I had no friend to go to ; 
and his rooms were empty. He said he knew he 
ought never to have left. He really was affected 
then. 

And yet all the time, I was uncomfortably aware 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 465 

that things hadn’t turned out so badly even if it 
had been beastly at the time. If I hadn’t been 
forced to open the tin box from ennui, I should 
never have unearthed father’s writings ; if I hadn’t 
been forced to publish them and economize, I 
should never have gone down to Gloucestershire and 
made friends with Aunt and Uncle and the child- 
ren; if I’d got a job directly I came back, I should 
never have found out what bricks Miss Beckles 
and Miss Patten were, and what true friends the 
Alliance people had been all the time, and I never 
should have forgiven Mr. Grainge. And if the 
business with Mr. Richard had to be broken, and 
in my heart I was relieved and glad that it was 
over, why, it was better to have seen and drawn 
back before anything irremediable had been 
done. 

But I wanted Jack Ford to be sorry for me; I 
couldn’t bear him to sit there so impersonally, 
twinkling away and philosophizing. I knew he 
could be such a splendid friend, and I loved it so, 
when he said, “Little Minette, Little Minette” as 
if he were patting me. 

How contemptibly one can angle for affection. 
No. I wasn’t comfortable; it was like getting 
something on false pretences. 


30 


466 On tKe Fi^Kting Line 

I asked him to tell me about Aubrey Walk and 
his career. I felt stupidly nervous at the way he 
looked at me. 

But we had got into a maudlin state, thanks to 
my idiocy. 

He said he had been in the depths, only they 
were sticky ones, and the more he floundered, the 
worse he stuck. 

If the world could get hold of an artist, it would, 
then it would tie his hands, cram his mouth with 
dust and ashes, and galvanize him into dancing 
like a monkey. Everyone had been telling him he 
must behave like normal people in his class, and 
so he had bought flannels and gone in for tennis. 
The first time he entered the courts he went flat 
on his nose, and when he got up and went for the 
ball, he fell into the net and went through it. He 
hadn’t imagined there was any art in tennis; he 
thought you just picked up a racket and played. 
But the sight of those horrible women sitting round, 
had given him palpitations, and so he had palpi- 
tated. He had done all sorts of things he didn’t 
want to do ; he had dressed every night even when 
alone, in case anyone should come in ; he had never 
felt there was a moment when he could sit com- 
fortably in his shirt-sleeves. He had had to sit at 


JacK Pord Comes BacK 467 

the table all through a meal, because of what the 
maid would think. He had to have coffee made 
(undrinkably) in the kitchen; he could never 
bring in anything he saw in the shops and liked the 
look of, and his cook would only shop by telephone 
and resented suggestions. What he hated the 
most was the awful insincerity, however, when 
women rang him up and asked him to dinner, and 
said they couldn't promise him a dinner but just 
something to eat, and he was sat down to eight 
courses. 

The whole business made him sick and dizzy, and 
he had come to the conclusion he was a natural 
throwback, and his family must give him up. 

He had run away from home when he was 
eighteen because the whole business had seemed 
so like a treadmill ; he had been all over the world, 
and had got into settled ways, and now at his age, 
he could not be put back into a pot and simper on a 
window-ledge. And he could only work with his 
collar off, and ink-smudges just where he chose to 
place them. 

How I loved to hear him talk like this, in one 
way ; but in another, he was a little bitter, as if he 
had been a failure and knew it, and I don't like 
him to mind anything; I like him to continue 


468 On tKe Fig'Kting Line 

unruffled. He had had a bad time, evidently, 
with Carol, and I suppose I was proud for him, 
and wished he wouldn’t think all the littleness 
important ; besides, Mr. Richard took all that sort 
of thing so easily and triumphantly. I don’t 
like him to score in any way over Jack Ford. 
So we stopped talking and sat looking at the 
fire, neither of us feeling we appeared to very 
great advantage, I fancy; and presently I said 
I must be off and asked him to supper to-morrow. 

All the same, it is glorious that he’s back. 

Back, and free. 

I wonder what’s happened to Carol. She 
must have broken the engagement and perhaps 
that is why he is sore. 

Still, he’ll be so much happier here, that he’ll 
forget her. 

I can hardly believe he’s back, and everything 
is to be the same, only nicer. We have become 
much truer friends now, in this time when we’ve 
not seen each other. That’s funny. 

April yih, Wednesday. 

Once more my little room is hanging out its 
banners; white narcissi this time, everywhere, 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 469 

white and green, and heady with the scent of 
spring ; and again the little sky parlour has opened 
like a flower and I am looking down a new unim- 
aginable vista. 

Fighting Line, you have been my friends and 
guardians and comrades, just the thin line of you, 
propped up there, and to-night, you have been the 
means of helping me again. How strange to think 
what treasures this little room has held for me; the 
old tin box that I used to put my saucepan on 
and use as a step to reach the window, turned 
out to be a magic trunk, from which came the 
means of getting food when I was starving, and 
which opened also, to give me interests and a pur- 
pose; which opened to fill my mind with brave 
thoughts and a new sense of life. 

The tiny mantelshelf has held a row of friends, 
always there to comfort me; friends that I’ve 
added to, living helpers. My window has framed 
inspiring pictures, night and day; red roses made 
the summer sweet, in that brown casserole and 
willow-pattern jug; I’ve rubbed my heartaches 
away on the saucepans and the candle-sticks; and 
I’ve curled up in the chair as if it were a refuge, 
and the fire has crackled like a warming beacon, 
signalling '‘Home.” And now, little sky parlour, 


470 


On tKe FigHting Line 


you’re swept and clean and garnished with white 
flowers which have made Jack Ford see me, as Mr. 
Richard saw me once, only in an even nicer way. 

What a happy evening it has been. 

I brought home cooked food, because I didn’t 
want the smell of cooking, and Jack Ford was 
properly appreciative of the pretty feast. He 
grinned like anything, and the silly depression 
and maudlinness of last night had left both of us; 
we were just happy. 

He made fun of me, of course, because I had 
put on my new white silk blouse to match the 
flowers, and had twisted a green ribbon in my 
hair, but I didn’t mind. I told him it was 
ripping to have him back, and I wasn’t going to 
pretend I wasn’t happy. He said I must have 
someone to worship, mustn’t I? I told him I 
knew all his faults and would say them off, if he 
liked. But he said. No, to-night we would only 
regard each other’s virtues. I told him he would 
have to give me some artistic advice after supper 
when he’d helped me wash up. This I insisted on. 

When everything was put away, we leaned on 
the window-ledge and looked out in the moonlight. 
It was a heavenly night. Away up here, it was as 
good as being outside. The wind puffed in gently 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 471 

through the window and everything was so quiet 
and sweet. The sky parlour was dimly lit behind 
us, a dear little nest of flowers and shining things, 
and London was below, in its lamp-lit dress. 

It was a night when one could talk of serious 
things, and I felt he would know just what was 
best to do about father's novel. I hadn’t talked 
of father to him yet. 

So I told him the problem from the beginning. 

How interested he was ! 

At the end, he said that explained everything. 
He had always felt I was an artist. Only artists 
took things seriously and at the same time stood 
away from them, and saw them going on like 
a dramatic performance. He did wish he had 
known my father and wanted to read all he had 
written, and then he would decide about the 
novel. If it were any good, it ought to be pub- 
lished. Artists had to put down what they saw. 
They wrung their art out of their lives. So it was 
other people saw the sort of lives they were leading, 
and struggled to rise out of their triviality. 

He only asked that a book should be the writer’s 
true experience; we had to be relentless with our- 
selves and all the mass of human lives around us; 
and after all, the only part that determined the 


472 On tKe FigKtin^ Line 

worth of the book was our point of view of every- 
thing. He thought my father’s point of view 
sounded true and promising, and if so, his point 
of view must be given. 

Such a strange thing came out then; he asked 
my father’s name and it turned out he only knew 
me as Minette. 

When I told him, he stared at me, and then 
drew out his pocket-book ; in it was the first poem 
that had come out in the Westminster, He had 
meant to write to the man and tell him how 
much he liked it, but somehow, his slackness had 
stepped in. 

I jumped down and showed him father’s photo- 
graph. I told him father’s history, and how his 
people had cast him off. When I said where they 
used to live. Jack Ford stared harder and harder 
at the photo, and at last said he believed father 
was the man his Aunt used to talk about. The 
cousin who had been a genius and married beneath 
him, and whom his Aunt had always thought a 
sort of Chatterton. 

*‘lt was just at the time when Dowson died,” 
said Jack Ford. ^‘And though this man was the 
most far-away of relations, and I believe, had cut 
himself off, for his family seem to have been ready 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 473 

enough to be friendly, still my Aunt’s sentimental 
soul saw a likeness, and I always attribute her 
interest in me to that. Good heavens, when she 
knows he left a daughter, to starve. ” 

‘'Do you mean, she’ll be friendly,” said I, with 
such a thrill. I’ve had enough of being in outer 
darkness. To find I was sort of relation of Jack 

Ford’s, or rather, of his Aunt’s 

“Friendly ! ” groaned Jack Ford. “ Oh, Minette, 
you’re doomed. She’ll adopt you and dress you 
and travel you and launch you, and I shall have 
to come back to it all with you keeping me up 
to the scratch.” 

“She won’t take me away from here,” said I. 
“Oh, won’t she,” said he. “You may refuse 
at first, but she’ll ask you to lunch, and to parties, 
and dress you, and motor you, and you’ll fall, 
Minette. You’ll never withstand it. When she 
hears what a brick you’ve been, how you’ve res- 
cued his work, and launched it, and have saved up 
your poor little earnings to pay for his novel ; why, 
there’s nothing she’ll think good enough for you. 
And she’ll see a means of paying something back, 
don’t you know; all the past resuscitated and made 
to bloom anew and so forth.” 

He always laughs. 


474 On tKe FigKting Line 

I was gripping the window-ledge as if the Aunt 
was tugging behind. 

I won’t give up my sky parlour and the office, ” 
said I. '‘I couldn’t be happy anywhere else, any 
more than you. ” 

“She’ll be too much for you,” said Jack Ford. 

“But why tell her, you needn’t, you mustn’t,” 
I cried. 

“I believe you want to stay here,” said Jack 
Ford, staring at me. 

I just held on to the window-ledge. 

“Do you know what Mr. Richard called me,” 
said I; “Jasmine. Because we saw some yellow 
jasmine shining out from a dingy wall in a dingy 
tow-path in March, before any leaves were out. 
Well, I’m all right in a grey workaday place, it’s 
natural to me, but put me with red roses, and I 
wither, I wither.” 

“Jasmine?” said Jack Ford. “What beastly 
cheek. You don’t belong to greyness. ” 

“I do. It’s natural to me,” I repeated. “I 
like the name, too; it’s so pretty and flowery. 
It’s a little like Minnie, Jasmine, you see, but it’s 
nicer. ” 

“ I can see you as Jessamine, perhaps, but that’s 
a summer flower,” said Jack Ford. “I see you as 


JacK Ford Comes DacK 475 

the white kind, with little stars, sweet and clean 
and cool; you know how the jessamine stars come 
out one after the other, till you can hardly breathe 
for the sweetness, and yet the wood’s jolly thick, 
and goes steadily climbing up and up, till it makes 
a jessamine bower of sweetness and shade. That’s 
what you are, Minette, a shade from the razzle- 
dazzle, out there, down below; Minette in her 
jessamine bower up here.” 

“Goodness me!” said I faintly. And then 
remembered the poem I had seen, and that it was 
easy for him to talk like this. “What’s Carol 
like?” said I. 

“An orchid without any scent,” said Jack 
Ford, “no leaves and all flower, the most expen- 
sive and splendiferous and exquisite and perfect 
orchid that ever collectors roamed the world 
around for; as difficult to grow and keep, too; 
quite priceless; for a millionaire who can con- 
centrate on tending the orchid and exhibiting 
it. ” He was grinning at me as if he fully under- 
stood what I was thinking. And wasn’t ashamed 
one bit. 

“I shot too high, Minette,” said he; “but she is 
the most fascinating of women. I shall always 
like Carol. The extraordinary thing is, in the 


476 On tHe Fig'Hting Line 

depths of her rudimentary small soul I believe she 
likes me.’* 

“Did you or she break it off?” I asked, for a 
memory was stirring, that day at Woodbine Villa 
when the fear had looked out of her eyes. 

“Well, I really was breaking it off from the 
moment we met, ” said Jack Ford ; “but I got more 
entangled, somehow, she is so plausible. At one 
time, I honestly thought I must rescue her. But 
then, something happened, and I knew it wasn’t 
fair to her, and since that day, I’ve been steadily 
proving to her that it wouldn’t do. I nearly broke 
it off when she wanted a parlour-maid. And 
then I broke off with my Aunt. And I became a 
bear, and altogether I don’t want to think back. 
The only consolation is that she’s well out of it.” 

“What happened?” said I. I couldn’t forget 
the look in Carol’s eyes. 

Jack Ford looked out for some time, then he 
said: “Will you promise to be unusually sensible 
and not think silly things if I tell you?” 

I nodded. He does smack one in the face, 
sometimes. 

“Well, you know that day you came to Aubrey 
Walk, and we saw the bread?” said Jack Ford. 
“You were hungry then, weren’t you?” 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 477 

I nodded again. 

never mistake the look/' said Jack Ford. 

You may have noticed how easy it was to get rid 
of us? I thought you'd come back for the bread. 
Did you?" 

“It was gone," said I. 

“Oh damn," said Jack Ford. “I banked on 
you getting it. I didn't know what to do. I 
daren’t ask you, I daren't come and see you. I was 
engaged to her then, and I couldn’t trust myself. 
I sort of half broke it off that week, and came, and 
found Sarah installed and heard you’d gone to 
Gloucestershire, and knew you were all right, and 
that gave me time to do the thing more decently. 
Honestly, Carol broke it off herself in the end. I 
made a point of the washing being done at home. 
I don’t know how that inspiration came; I said 
we must have a copper and a woman in, if we 
had to live at Balham to do it, and I wouldn’t 
budge." 

“But what had my being hungry to do with 
you and Carol," said I blankly. “Or having 
your washing done at home." 

Again he hesitated. He must think me con- 
ceited. 

“You're quite sure you can look at the matter 


47^ On tHe FigHting Line 

sensibly, and not think silly things?*’ said he. 
^*Some girls might construe what I am going to 
say, so personally and stupidly. ” 

‘‘ I shan’t,” said I. 

^‘Well, I knew, when I saw that look in your 
eyes, that I didn’t want to take care of Carol, 
and the only woman a man has any right to marry 
is the woman he wants to take care of, through 
earth and hell,” said he. “I don’t feel competent 
of taking care of Carol; she wipes me out flat. 
But ” 

‘‘I don’t agree at all, no self-respecting woman 
would accept a man’s pity,” said I, more stung 
than I can say. How could I take his remarks in 
anything but a personal sense? 

‘‘You little goose, ” said Jack Ford, and grinned 
at the distance. “Now I’m not going to talk about 
ourselves another minute. I knew you’d shy, but 
you would have it. ” 

“I hate being pitied,” said I. 

“What a lie!” said Jack Ford. “What were 
you doing all last night but playing on my heart- 
strings till they nearly snapped, and strong man 
as I was, I broke up and w — w — wept. ” 

“And who tried to make me pity you?” said I. 
But all the same, I was glad he had seen through 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 479 

me; it was more wholesome and like him, than 
letting me snivel. 

^‘Ah, but I don't pretend I don't like you to 
pity me," said he, good-humoured and jolly as if 
we had been discussing the most casual topic. “ I 
simply soaked myself last night in it; lovely, like 
treacle. You do pity a fellow so nicely when you 
do pity him, Minette. I shall often come to you 
for pity." 

“And laugh at me after," said I. “No thank 
you, not next time. " 

“Ah, now you're forcing the pace, and it isn't 
decent," said Jack Ford, smiling at the stars, as 
if he had a private understanding with them. 
“Though I hadn't much hope of keeping up a 
decent show of blightedness when I got back. I'm 
so jolly happy, aren't you?" 

I couldn't say I wasn't, so I said nothing. 

“And Mr. Richard's gone the way of all pink, 
prosperous flesh, " said Jack Ford, hanging out till 
I was afraid he'd fall. 

“ How did you get on with Sarah when you came 
here?" said I. 

“Catastrophically," said he. “I told her I 
didn't believe in suffrage or independence, what a 
woman wanted was a man to take care of her, and. 


480 On tHe Fig'Kting Line 

pity her, and feed her, and fuss her up, and write 
poems to, and take out in the country, and gener- 
ally dry nurse. 

Heavens ! ” I cried. How contemptible ! ** 
Sarah foamed at the mouth, ” said Jack Ford. 
** You’ll have to ask her to meet me, and argue with 
me. Do you remember that was the excuse I 
made when I first asked you. Oh, Minette, what 
a scared little thing you were. I thought you’d 
be out of the room, every minute.” 

We began to talk of old times, and the Bird Boy, 
and Simon’s success. It was so jolly hearing 
about them and discussing them. 

Before he left, I asked him to let me see his book. 
I would only lend him father’s novel on that 
condition. 

He scratched his head a minute, and then took a 
sudden resolution. 

“Perhaps you’d better know the worst at once,” 
said he, “If you’ll promise to be sensible and not 
think silly things.” 

“I know the poems are what you call love 
poems,” said I, curling up my nose. 

“ Honestly I didn’t realize ; honestly, I thought it 
was merely artistic impressions, ” said he. 

“And then you became engaged to her, ” said I. 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 481 

Jack Ford looked at me with twinkling eyes, 
that made me want to throw something, and yet I 
wanted to laugh, too, partly from happiness. It’s 
so jolly to have him back. 

^*Will you promise to tell me your exact sen- 
sations when you read the book?'’ said he. 
** Honestly, whatever they are?” 

‘‘No,” said I. 

He laughed. ‘‘Oh well, I shall know,” said he. 
“When you’ve read it, I won’t pretend another 
minute, Minette, and it will save time and trouble 
if you’ 11 do the same. I shall give you the book 
in the morning or you wouldn’t sleep a wink 
to-night.” 

He is conceited. But I don’t believe I shall 
sleep a wink as it is. I can’t help thinking about 
Carol. I wonder if Jack does understand her 
as clearly as he thinks. I’m absolutely certain 
she cared for him. Poor Carol. Struggling to 
get out, and even Jack not understanding. I don’t 
feel a bit jealous, I can’t forget how she looked, 
asking and asking to be freed. 

Surely in his poems, he will recognize the side 
of Carol that could have stood poverty and 
difficulties when she’d once plunged in. 

I’m longing to read his book; to see what he was 


31 


482 0x1 tKe FigHting Line 

thinking of in those early days when we first 
knew each other. What was it he said? Writers 
can only write of what they know, and see. How 
interesting his point of view will be. 

Thursday, 

There isn’t a word in the book about Carol; 
not a verse, not a line that can be construed into a 
reference. There are four poems in the book to a 
woman: To an Attic Goddess; To a City Sparrow, 
how dared he think of me as that; To the Sky 
Parlour, and — and — Neighbours ! 

Are we neighbours in thought? Are we as near 
as he says? 

And what on earth am I going to say to him 
when I see him? 

Jack Ford walked into the Teashop to-day when 
Miss Beckles and I were having lunch, and I had 
to introduce him. Miss Beckles was icy. I think 
her dislike of men is becoming genuine. 

But by some happy chance. Jack Ford always 
hits on the right way of treating people; he had 
just bought one of his nasty little labour papers 
and was full of an editorial on Forcible Feeding. 
Miss Beckles could not resist joining in, especially 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 483 

as I disagreed with them, and thought the Govern- 
ment justified in any coercive measures to uphold 
the law. 

Finally Miss Beckles asked him if he belonged 
to the friends of Woman’s Suffrage Society. 

Then Jack Ford astonished us both by going 
further than anyone has yet gone in the matter. 
He said Woman had enough friends, too many in 
proportion. He was turning his attention to Man ; 
in fact, he was thinking of taking the plunge and 
coming out openly as the first New Man. From 
the Fall Man had followed Woman’s example, 
being naturally conservative, but the time was now 
becoming ripe for pioneers to start. He didn’t 
anticipate enough followers at present to form a 
society, which in a way was a blessing as it would 
save him a subscription. 

I asked what on earth he meant. 

He said the curse of femininity had been seen, 
and was being overcome, but the curse of mascu- 
linity still remained to be shown up. Femininity 
had cringed, fiattered, and deceived; masculinity 
had swaggered, ogled, and been deluded. Mascu- 
linity was now causing decent upright individuals 
to refuse the elements of justice and fair play and 
freedom to citizens who’d proved their capability 


484 On tKe Fig'Kting Line 

in every department of the nation^s work; mascu- 
linity caused sane people to go into paroxysms of 
hysteria and panic under the delusion they were 
being patriotic and courageous; masculinity caused 
professed Christians to be tmbelievably selfish and 
dishonest in their families. 

Femininity had been thoroughly exposed as a 
drag on the intelligence and progress of the com- 
munity, but the very people who were getting 
free from it, still saw the worse pitfall of masculin- 
ity as something to be emulated. 

So he was going to try and break free from its 
trammels and set an example. 

^‘You don’t believe in men being brave?” said 
I and remembered suddenly the dreadful night 
when he came home from the Suffrage Riots, and 
went crimson for his shame. 

But he only laughed. “Oh, you do love red 
fire, ” said he. “ If you could only understand how 
easy it is to punch anyone when you’re blind with 
fear. What you call bravery is the lowest instinct 
of self-preservation. We dress ourselves up in 
uniforms, bang drums, blow trumpets, buy the 
most expensive defensive implements that we can 
think out, then agree to herd together and defend 
each other, and call ourselves heroes. We keep 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 485 

women resolutely out of that particular business, 
so that we can have sufficient appreciation. In 
fact, that’s the reason why we keep them out of 
every business that’s lucrative or impressive. Mas- 
culinity must be admired. Just think what’s be- 
fore me when I face the world as the new man, who 
doesn’t feel there’s anything particularly admirable 
about being a man, any more than there is about 
being a woman. Point is, what sort of man or 
what sort of woman? Masculinity has had such a 
soft job up till now. It’s the easiest thing in the 
world to feel masculine, just as it’s the easiest 
thing in the world to feel patriotic when a band 
plays emotional tunes and well-fed well-kept 
masculines in uniforms swank by. ” 

*‘I shouldn’t like men to become unmanly, 
ever,” said Miss Beckles. “I’ve too much fighting 
spirit. The only thing I ask is to be treated as 
their equal. But we shall always be different. ” 
“Oh, it is funny to think England is supposed 
to be a Christian country,” said Jack Ford. 
“When you come to think of it, only one model 
has been given for man and woman ; one life as an 
example; and there we’ve gone and divided our- 
selves up into manly men and womanly women till 
we’re all at each other’s throats now, tearing each 


486 


On tHe FigHting Line 


other to pieces, trying to keep our peculiar distinc- 
tions and qualities and perquisites separate. ” 

Miss Beckles had become very stiff; I thought 
it rather out of place to introduce a sacred topic 
in a casual conversation. He doesn’t know Miss 
Beckles at all. I don’t mind the blasphemy, but 
there’s such a thing as good taste in such matters; 
and there are certain things one doesnH speak 
about. 

But Jack Ford has no sensitiveness. 

As we didn’t answer, but looked at our plates 
and the menu and spoke of the heat, he continued. 

“There’s one good sign,” said he; “men will 
soon have to wake up to their tendency to hysteria. 
It will be a great thing when we begin to go for 
this curse of sentimentality which blights our 
nation. There is no more sentimental concept 
than the English male, from the day when he is 
dandled as the heir, sent to a school to learn about 
the gentlemen who have made England what it is, 
passed on to a university to meet useful people and 
improve his acquaintance with the English homes 
of heirs, and finally launched out as a chip of the 
old block, ballasted with bunkum, to make senti- 
mental speeches about his country and his King, 
or The People, according to his party, while the 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 487 

rate-payers keep up the most obsolete and in- 
efficient systems of law and government that 
Sentimentality can devise. ’’ 

^‘Dear me!'* said Miss Beckles; this was her 
first experience of him. She was as shocked as I 
used to be. Of course now I know that he always 
talks like this. 

^‘No nation is worth anything without ideals," 
said I. Though as he spoke, I couldn't help seeing 
a picture of Mr. Richard. He had had an easy 
time of it, and he had been a little spoiled through 
it. 

“What sort of ideals?" said Jack Ford. “I'm 
only asking for a better brand. English ideals and 
Christian ones are at present fundamentally op- 
posed. You can't find the slightest tendency to 
snobbery in the New Testament; nor an excuse 
for patriotism, class distinction, or capital, or 
competition. The whole basis is universal, demo- 
cratic and co-operative, which brings me to my 
point; the root of the trouble is economic." 

“Dear me, from what you've been saying, I 
should have thought it was religious," said Miss 
Beckles, trying to sneer at him consistently but 
obviously out of her depth and utterly at sea. 

“Now look here," said Jack Ford, pushing his 


488 


On tHe FigHting l^ine 


plate away, squaring his elbows on the table, and 
warming up. “What’s keeping men and women 
apart now? Nothing but this idea of competition. 
What’s keeping all the intelligence of the com- 
munity divided up into opposing parties, whose one 
aim is to hinder the steps that everyone knows are 
essential? What’s holding up the resources of the 
community and converting income into capital?” 

“And what’s making us leave this most interest- 
ing discussion and fly?” said I. 

“Oh, but I say, wait a minute; well, look here, 
I’m coming in to-night, ” said Jack Ford. “Mind 
you’re in, Minette.” 

How Miss Beckles stared. I simply rushed her 
to the desk. As we went out, she said she sup- 
posed two was company but he really was a most 
original gentleman. She was always amused to 
hear men talk. Anything to curry favour now the 
woman’s hour was near. 

Jack Ford seems to have forgotten I have read 
his poems. I shan’t refer to them if he doesn’t. 


All that Jack Ford had said, stuck in my mind 
and depressed me. He struck me as being unfair. 
Men aren’t perfect, but there have been some jolly 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 489 

brave ones; I wish he wouldn't be so sweeping. 
He claps his ruthless hands together and my 
beautiful bright bubbles break. I didn't get com- 
fort out of my Fighting Line to-night. 

But he had certainly cured me of any sentimen- 
tal feeling about his poems. When he came in, he 
found me cleaning shoes, and I continued to do so. 
He didn't start his argument again though; only 
settled in a chair and watched me. 

Some one had to say something at last, so I 
asked him if my Fighting Line annoyed him. He 
smiled rather vaguely and said he wasn't looking 
at it; then he sighed, pulled himself out of his 
dream, and said he nearly fled at sight the first 
time he came in and saw it. I asked why. He said 
well, it was no worse than a row of photographs of 
my pet actor. At least, not much worse. 

I said, “We must have this out." 

He said, “I object to spectacular virtues; you 
have a tendency to label yourself brave and true, 
Minette, and to enjoy it. But why not, bless you. 
The cure is to give you someone else to think 
about. " 

“I wonder why you come here; I wonder why 
you have anything to do with me," said I, and 
picked up the shoe again. “From the very first 


490 On tHe Fi^Hting l^ine 

you’ve shown you think me a prig, and a narrow, 
ignorant one at that. ” 

“Oh come, come, I’ve shown I’ve been very 
fond of you, ” said Jack Ford. He said it straight 
out. 

“Fond of a prig?” said I at last, making myself 
say the word as easily as he had. 

Jack Ford sighed again and sat up. 

“I always have felt this sort of thing ought to 
be done sanely,” said he. “Look here, Minette, 
you know perfectly well why I’ve come back. ” 

“Because you want your freedom,” said I, 
faintly. One can’t talk sanely with a man when 
he’s looking at you like that. 

“No, I want yours more; or I want you. I 
dunno. Help me out. It would be just like you to 
tell me I’m entirely wrong and you’ll never be 
happy unless you get hold of that swollen-headed 
young ass who understands you about as well as — 
as — ^you understand me,” said Jack Ford, and 
suddenly jumped up, and went to the window. 

I hadn’t the faintest idea what to say. I was 
guessing, of course, in a way; but if I guessed 
wrong. And there was Carol. 

I went on cleaning the shoe; there was no polish 
left but I rubbed and rubbed. 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 491 

‘‘I’m not going down on my knees,” said Jack 
Ford at last, his back to me. 

“You wouldn’t see much if you did,” said I, 
trying to speak as Carol would have done. “ Would 
your eyes come over the window-ledge? I don’t 
think so. ” 

“And I’m not going to take you in my arms,” 
said Jack Ford. “We’re going to talk the whole 
thing out like a sensible man and woman. I 
always made up my mind to that. ” 

“Did you with Carol?” said I. I wasn’t feeling 
a bit sensible though I was struggling my level 
best to keep up to what he wanted. I couldn’t 
feel anything but sentimental. The only way of 
keeping sane was to go on rubbing. 

“Oh dear, have we got to have all that out?” 
said Jack Ford. “ No, I didn’t talk things out with 
Carol. Directly I did, I began to break it off. 
But I’m trying to do the other thing with you. ” 

“You don’t talk about that sort of thing when 
you’re in love with a person,” said I, and saw 
Carol’s melting eyes, and realized what they had 
been to one another, and could have cried my 
heart out for the pain of it, if he hadn’t said : “ You 
know, don’t you,” so savagely that I saw he was 
thinking of Mr. Richard and feeling just as angry. 


492 On tKe Line 

^‘What things do you want to talk about?” 
said I. 

'‘I don’t want to talk about anything,” said 
Jack shortly. 

We didn’t say anything for a bit, then he said: 
^‘Come and look at the stars, Minette, and let us 
both realize what infinitesimal atoms we are and 
how precious little we matter. ” 

“ I think we do matter, ” said I. 

I was not going to him like a little dog. 

After looking at the stars a bit longer, he said, 
‘‘Will you marry me, Minette,” and I said, “No; 
I’d rather be as we are, thank you. ” 

I couldn’t rub any more. I went and sat down 
by the fire, miserable and happy together; glad 
that he liked me after all; but afraid of being 
sentimental and laughed at. He was so far above 
me in his ideas, and I didn’t know how to behave 
sanely. At the same time, I was glad he wasn’t 
being like Mr. Richard and flirting and taking 
things for granted. It was like Jack Ford to ask 
me bang out, and face the whole thing squarely. 

I couldn’t help thinking of Carol though. 

I found myself staring up at my despised Fight- 
ing Line. They had been through so much with 
me. I shall always keep a friendly feeling. 


JacK Ford Comes BacK 493 

although their importance seems now just a little 
like Uncle Samuel’s. And all the time, I kept 
thinking back to Carol, and wondering what would 
happen if she knew Jack liked me. Supposing I 
said yes, she would come again, and then, — I 
couldn’t be sane then. 

^‘What’s up, Minette,” said Jack Ford close by 
me; and sat down and put his hand on mine. 
*‘Tell me all about it.” 

So I told him. 

By the time I had finished telling him, I saw I 
need never be jealous of Carol or afraid of not 
pleasing him or not being sane. He says that for 
some time he liked to think I was the new order 
and Carol the old order, and that was why she was 
afraid of me ; he feels the type of girl that has been 
brought up to take and take, is going, and he was 
awfully sorry for her, because he liked me so much 
better and felt so much more comfortable and at 
home with me ; so he went out of his way to be nice 
to her with fatal results. 

The situation was complicated by my sky 
parlour. It was impossible not to see what a jolly 
little place we should have together, and how 
comfortable we both could be. 

He doesn’t attach any importance to Mr. Rich- 


494 On tHe FigHtin^ Line 

ard. A week together would have cured me of 
that. He met Mr. Richard at the Grainges’, and 
says that living with him would be like living with 
a nice simple boy of fourteen. Mr. Richard was 
going in for Badminton and explained the rules in 
detail. 

I told Jack about Aunt Minnie and Uncle 
Samuel, and he says we’ll go a walking tour for our 
honeymoon, and look them up. He doesn’t mind. 
He says I shall be much more bored with his 
Aunt. 

We planned everything out ever so sanely; but 
not at the opposite sides of the room. 

I told him anyone who read those poems would 
have thought he was in love. He said everybody 
did, including Carol. I asked if he wasn’t just a 
little; and he said that should be the riddle of the 
future. 

It is very cowardly of him not to own up. 

I haven’t owned up either, though, and I won’t 
till he does. 


THE END. 


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